


those markings on your skin

by saltfics



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Henry Needs A Hug, Homophobia, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Im going to make this a tag I tell you, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Poisoning, Seizures, Shooting, Short One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 59,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltfics/pseuds/saltfics
Summary: Originally a collection of one-shots based on Tumblr Prompts, but now a series of interconnected prompt-based chapters regarding a series of assassination attempts towards HRH Prince Henry, and the effect on their relationships with each other that comes with it, featuring most of the main cast. (Plus a few standalones in between).
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Arthur Fox & Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Percy "Pez" Okonjo, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Shaan Srivastava, Oscar Diaz & Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 416
Kudos: 497





	1. "I'm the one who got..."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I had to do this as I'm about to post a lot of one-shots on the shorter side! (The shorter side by my standards being 2-3k. I have a problem, shuuush).
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! Today's prompt: "You're panicking? I'm the one that got [insert injury here]"

Having famous last words is one way to go down in history. It’s not even just the profound ones that get all the credit. Sometimes, the ones remembered are those that were so cocky and topped with just the right amount of irony to be rendered _iconic._ Alex has never forgotten John Sedgwick since he learned about him, not because of his great work as a military officer, but because he had the gall to say ‘they couldn’t shoot an elephant from that distance’. And then they did. 

Alex thinks he has a high chance of going down the same way. In fact, his last words might turn out to be, _I can run that fast_.

The light for the pedestrians switches from green to red just as he steps on the crossing, but the cars are still far away. Henry’s waiting for him outside the university library, and Alex is already twenty minutes late. _I can run that fast_ , he thinks and dashes instead of stepping back. He doesn’t notice the car that’s mid-turn, a turn that’s far closer thanwhat he based his calculations on. _I can run that fast_. 

Famous last words.

There’s a precise moment when he realizes he’s completely fucked up, and he wastes one whole sixteenth of a second hoping it’s not the last time he ever gets to fuck up like that. He’s in the middle of the street, too far in to back away, too far away to make it to the other side. It’s a two-car lane. If he takes a step back, there’s something coming his way. If he takes a step forward, there’s another car coming his way. If he stays _there_ … Fucking fuckity _fuck_.

If he dies, Henry’s going to murder him.

Metal connects to his side and all that crap about your life flashing before your eyes? It’s still crap, but later he’ll swear time does slow down for him to think. Or his mind goes into overdrive. Same difference. He feels the first slam and he thinks, _hey that wasn’t that bad._ He can’t see around him, can’t register his surroundings but he still manages one single, impossible thought in the middle of disaster: _Brace yourself. You still have to land._

And maybe that’s why when he does fall on the asphalt, a good two feet away from where the car hit the breaks, his hands are out to protect his face. When his vision returns, he’s on his hands and knees in the middle of the street, his palms stinging from the rough slap against the asphalt. His legs are spread behind him and his backpack is too heavy on his back, pulling him to the side.

Alex is breathing hard, trying to take mental stock of his body. He’s afraid to try moving his legs, but he’s still in the middle of the fucking road, one of the lanes paused because of his stupidity. Okay, okay, he has to move.

He searches his body for any extreme aches that should cause him to panic, but the adrenaline must still be pumping through him because he doesn’t feel any pain. Relief spikes through him for a second. He’s fine. He’s actually fine. Henry’s not going to kill him. June is not going to have his head.

Then he actually tries pushing himself to his feet. Shit, nope, he’s wrong. He’s very wrong. Fuck.

Pain strikes, angry and bright like lightning up his leg, the second he considers putting some weight on it. The effect on him is still blurred, his mind reeling too much to properly panic or wonder what that means.

He doesn’t register the people walking towards him until two sets of hands grab his arms, while a third pries his backpack from his shoulders to lessen his load. Together they guide him to the nearest sidewalk. Alex is sure he says something to them. Thank you, or sorry, or an endless stream of both mixed together into a string of mumbled nonsense.

“Dude, are you okay?” one of the guys supporting him says.

“You should have been more careful,” reprimands the lady who’s still holding his bag. “Why did you cross like that?”

They lower him down into a sitting position again now that he’s not obstructing traffic anymore, and Alex’s head is starting to return to him. A small crowd is gathered around him, talking to him, asking him if he needs anything, but mostly just looking on, curious and worried in equal measure. He looks around for his backpack again, just to make sure it’s nearby. His laptop, _including_ his fresh 25-page paper is in there and he has his priorities straight, damn it. 

He catches a glimpse of what he’s pretty certain is the car that slammed into him drive away as soon as the street is free again. Fucker.

“We should call an ambulance!”

“Should we drive you somewhere?”

“Is there anyone I can call for you, honey?”

That’s when his mind actually connects. “Oh, _shit_! Henry! Where’s my phone? I-I was holding it? Fuck, is it still on the street?” One of the guys who helped him pushes his phone into his hands. Alex is pretty sure he’s in his class. Shit, he needs to learn his name. Why is he such an ass with this stuff? “Thanks, man,” Alex offers him a guilty smile. “I’m—I’m good. I’m good, everyone! Thank you so much! I’ll just call my boyfriend to-to pick me up! It’s—”

“Alex?”

“ _Or_ he’ll find me first.”

The crowd parts as Henry pushes his way through, and soon starts to scatter. The lady hands his backpack to Henry as she leaves, and he accepts it, confused. Alex watches as Henry’s eyes roam over him, widening as he takes him in, sitting on the dirty sidewalk, his leg spread out carefully, his clothes rumpled. And he’s grateful there’s a lack of carnage on him, no blood or torn clothes, that he’s just mildly disheveled, because he can’t imagine putting Henry through that.

Well, he’s also grateful he didn’t die, but again, priorities.

“Alex, what happened?” Henry asks, crouching next to him. He pushes a tangled mess of curls away from his face, letting his hand rest on his cheek. “Why are you on the ground? Are you okay?”

Okay, shit, how does he tell his beautiful, barely calm boyfriend that he was stupid enough to get slammed by a car in one of the busiest streets in New York? “Uh, okay, don’t freak out.” Which is the wrong thing to say, and the fastest way to get Henry to do just that.

“What? _Why_? What’s wrong? Can you get up? Are you hurt?”

“Yes. And yes. Actually, I _think._ I don’t know.”

“Alex… _what_?”

Alex groans. His leg is still throbbing in a steady pulse, but that’s about it. Even his hands have stopped stinging. “Help me up? Please?”

Henry nods, still confused and Alex doesn’t want to exchange the confusion with whatever’s going to come next. He wonders how much he can play the injury off. He can say he tripped, and with his level of injuries it’ll probably be believable but he doesn’t want to lie to Henry. If it was the other way around…

Alex hisses the moment he’s on his feet. Henry fumbles to readjust his grip on his arms, squeezing a bit too tight as if Alex might break if he doesn’t hold on with all he has. “Shit, sorry. I, uh, okay. So, I had a little accident.”

“You—what kind of accident?” The color washes from Henry’s face as he pulls him closer, shifting his arms so one of them is around Alex’s back instead. “What happened?”

“I’m okay, I promise! I was just really stupid. And crossed the street too carelessly and well…” he shrugs, giving a vague gesture towards his left leg.

Henry looks back towards the street for a moment, and when he turns back to Alex he looks like he’s the one who got struck. “ _That_ street?” he asks, voice small. “Are you okay? Are you—Okay, we need to go to the hospital. I’ll call Shaan to come pick us up, do you want to sit down again? Does it hurt? I’m sorry, I—”

Alex places both palms on the side of Henry’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “Hey, _hey_. Look at me.”

Henry hesitates for a second. When those precious blue eyes turn to meet his own, hints of moisture linger in their corners. He’s much paler than he was when he arrived, and Alex wants so desperately to kiss some color back into those lips, watch a rosy pink dust his too cold cheeks.

“Baby…” he coos. “You’re panicking? I’m the one who got ironed. Breathe.”

Henry flinches, his face inching away from Alex’s hold. “ _Don’t_ use that word. That’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chuckles. “Would it help if I went to the hospital with you?”

“Would it _help?_ Of course, you’re going to the hospital! ‘ _Would it help_ ’, he says.”

There’s no chance in hell Henry is going to take no for an answer, so Alex waits for him to call Shaan, lets him help him to the car without any protest. On the way there he gets three phone-calls, the level of exasperation increasing with each one. Apparently one of those kind passerbys was also kind enough to post a photo of him on the sidewalk on his Twitter. His dad calls first to make sure he’s okay. Then June, who upon learning the location of the accident just responds with _‘and you’re still alive?’_ , which is fair but also very rude, though when he complains to Henry about it, he’s sure he must be using all his patience not to glare at him for the nonchalance. He’s definitely glaring when Zahra calls and Alex just hands the phone over to him with the biggest, most pleading eyes he can muster.

Other than that, Henry stays quiet, eyes glued up ahead and staring at nothing. One of his hands is holding Alex’s own and he squeezes it every few minutes like he’s trying to make sure Alex is still there. It’s scaring him a little, but no matter how many times he insists he’s okay, that it barely even hurts, Henry doesn’t relax. He turns to him, gives him a small, tense little smile, then resumes looking at nothing ahead of him.

It’s fine. They’ll go to the hospital, they’ll get some tests done, and Henry will see he’s in perfect health. Then they’ll go home and cuddle until he forgets how much his leg hurts.

Unless he has some internal bleeding. That would be unfortunate.

The hospital visit passes faster than even he could have predicted. After describing his symptoms, Alex is quickly examined by an orthopedist and taken for x-rays to make sure nothing is broken. Everything comes out clear and in an astonishing show of competency, they’re out of there less than two hours later. Hell, the waiting room took twice as long as the tests themselves.

They stop for some painkillers on the way home, and he’s all set. He won’t even have to miss a class.

But Henry doesn’t perk up with the news. His breathing calms and he gets a hint of color to his cheeks as they drive home, but he’s still quiet. Withdrawn. It hurts more than the leg.

David rushes to greet them when they return, all little jumps and wagging tails. Alex feels a pinch of hurt when Henry grabs the puppy before he can jump on him. He doesn’t reprimand him, of course. Henry never yells at David, not even when he chews on pages of his work that he was foolish enough to leave out, but he’s too listless to play with him either, and it’s that apathy that finally breaks Alex’s heart.

“Henry? Baby, talk to me,” he pleads, leaning on his good leg with one hand against the nearest wall. “I’m fine, so what’s wrong?”

Henry doesn’t look at him. “I’m going to take him out for a bit. We won’t take long. Maybe I can bring food on my way back? What do you feel like having?”

“ _Henry_.”

“Is there anything you need before I leave? Water? Tea? Do you want me to help you up the stairs? Maybe we should just fix up the couch for tonight…”

Alex sighs, limping over to where Henry is still looking away from him, bent over to secure the leash on David’s collar. He wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him upright. “Sweetheart…” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, as he’s still turned the wrong way. “Please.”

It takes a lifetime to hear his voice. “You’re _such_ an idiot,” Henry breathes, too shaky to hold any bite. He lets Alex turn him around and leans forward to press their foreheads together. “You’re such an arse.” He’s not crying, though he’s shaking, and Alex rubs some warmth up and down his arms, along his back. “Do you have any idea how lucky you got? That was a dangerous fucking street, Alex.”

It’s the lack of anger that truly does him in. Henry might be mad at him but it’s not enough to overpower the fear that’s been rooting within him for hours. “I’m sorry. I know. I’m so sorry.” Alex pulls back slightly to give him a soft smile. “Would it help if I said I was rushing because I was so desperate to see you?”

“ _Alex._ ”

“Nope, I made it worse. Got it.” He presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was stupid, even for me. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll look both ways. Twice. I’ll fucking study physics to calculate the speed of cars versus my chance of running into them if I have to!” A smile trembles at Henry’s lips and Alex grins. “Watch me! Hey,” he says, softer now. He presses another kiss, this one to his cheek, smiling against him when Henry tilts his head towards the touch. “Anything to wipe that look off your face, and never have to see it again.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I know.”

David squeezes between their legs, pawing at Henry, nudging him with his nose.

Alex smiles. “It’s okay, buddy. I upset your daddy a little bit, but we’ll be fine. Right?”

Henry nods, bending down to scratch the top of David’s head, before heading for the door. “He doesn’t like it when I’m upset.”

“We have that in common.”

Henry makes sure to wrap him into the biggest hug before he leaves, even though he’s all kinds of dirty from lying on the road, and probably still smells like the hospital. Alex presses his face into the crook of his neck, breathes him in. Guilt churns in his stomach when he really stops to think about it, how stupid it was, how Henry must have felt. He squeezes a bit tighter before letting go.

And because he’s a total hypocrite, but he got himself too worked up not to, he calls out after him before he shuts the door.

“Hey, look both ways before you cross the road!”

Henry loves him, anyway.


	2. 1. "Catch me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Catch me.” character A mutters, wavering on the spot. “What?” Character B says before Character A promptly collapses ( presumably from an unknown injury/ illness.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are updated for each chapter!
> 
> I'm no medical professional, and while I did search a lot of things, I took some liberties with others, so take everything in here with a grain of salt. No pun intended.

Alex hasn’t looked up from his laptop in the last three hours, but when he hears David perk up and run to the door, he knows it’s the perfect time to take a break. Henry has been in England for the past few days, powering through some family obligations, including a dinner hosted by his brother for some of the dullest British royalty Alex has ever heard described. Even Henry can’t seem to stand most of them, as evident by the text he sent the second he managed to slip out of there.

_I told them I was going to miss my flight._

_Probably already mid-take off by the time they realized I have a private plane_.

It made Alex feel a little less bad for not joining him on his trip. There were exams to study for, and, as it turns out, British nobles to avoid.

He hears the keys on the door, two seconds on the dot after David ran to be the welcoming committee. Alex pushes himself off the desk, taking a last swig from his coffee mug to drink the wonderful taste of empty air, and walks over to the living room.

He has spent the past year enjoying the sight of Henry in the home they made together. He knows the way the sunlight gets tangled in blond hair, painting it golden. He knows the shade of Henry’s cheeks under his touch, the color of his lips before they kiss. He studied him in this room, in every room, every hour of the day until he could see the soft edges and shadows of him in his sleep. So when Henry turns as he’s taking off his coat to look at him, Alex sees the strain in his smile.

Henry’s cheeks are a shade paler than normal, and his hair is tousled to the point of being ridiculous, even for a man who has spent the last eight hours on a plane. 

He comes over to wrap his arms around Alex’s waist. When he leans for a kiss, Alex gets his answer in the taste of mouthwash on his breath.

“Hey, baby,” he says, trapped somewhere between amused and concerned. “Are you… drunk? Hangover?”

Henry groans, pulling him closer against him to bury his face in the crook of Alex’s neck. “I guess. I didn’t even drink that much, I swear. I think.”

Alex chuckles, rubbing circles on his back. “Well, do you feel bad? Do you want to sleep it off?” When Henry doesn’t respond, he tilts his head and presses a kiss to his hair. “Henry? Sweetheart?”

“Mm? No, no. I slept on the plane.” Henry pulls away, bringing a hand to clumsily rub at his eye.

Alex frowns. “You look tired.”

He shakes his head and immediately flinches. “Bit of a headache, that’s all. I also did, err, throw up twice on the plane so it was more of a series of naps than a slumber.”

“ _Henry_.”

“You can’t still taste it, can you? I tried to brush my teeth, I’m sorry—”

“ _Not_ what I was protesting! Should I go get you some medicine? Or-or, I don’t know? What do you need? You don’t usually get this drunk, what’s your favorite hangover cure?” Henry blinks at him, frowning, like he doesn’t understand the question. “ _Henry.”_ Alex’s tone is too snappy but it gets him to focus. “Fuck, are you hangover or still drunk?”

He goes to shake his head once more, and Alex presses his hands on the sides of his face to stop him from hurting himself again. Henry looks at him in confusion for a second, before his eyes soften. “Thank you,” he says with an awkward huff. “I’m fine. I didn’t even drink that much. It’s probably just the jet-lag, it’d be worse if I sleep it off now.” He places his own hands on top of Alex’s and guides them back to their sides. Alex notices they’re a few degrees cooler than usual, but at least he’s not shaking. He holds them tight, hoping to share some of his warmth. “Why don’t I go leave the, uh, the shutcase, upstairs? And youu canpullup something for us to… watch?”

Alex can only blink at first, certain he must have imagined the last bit. “What?” Is one of them having a stroke? And if so, which one?

“Suitcase? Upstairs? And you can pick something to watch?” Henry smiles at him, unabashed, and there’s a simple confidence to this joyous, private smile that Alex can almost ignore what he heard before as his own mind being too mushy from studying. “Could you maybe make me some tea as well?”

“Sure, baby. You sure you don’t need any medicine though?” he asks, as Henry goes to pick up the suitcase he abandoned.

“No, no, actually, uh, I think Shaan said he would go get me some? I don’t think he was very amused during the plane ride.”

Alex huffs, and he’s halfway to the kitchen when the footsteps stop, only three steps up the staircase. He looks over to find Henry, paused in the middle of the stairs, suitcase still in hand. His back is turned to him so he can’t see his expression, but he’s not moving.

“Henry?” Alex calls.

Henry jolts. “What?” he asks, twisting in spot to look at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“The suitcase?”

“Right.” And with a nod and a relieved smile that convince no one, he resumes his way to the second floor. Alex’s heart has climbed all the way to his throat, beating in a steady pace as he swallows.

David comes over to paw at him, climbing halfway up his leg with a whine. His eyes are large and a little sad, and it makes Alex feel like crap but he’s not even sure what’s going on at this point. So he does the only thing he can do: he crouches down to David’s level to let him press his nose into his chest, and gives him the nicest scratches behind his ears. “I don’t know, buddy. Apparently drinking and jet-lag don’t mix well.”

Five minutes later, Alex sets a warm mug of tea on the coffee table in front of the couch, and absentmindedly flips through Netflix in vain, fully aware they’ll just end up watching Bake-Off anyway, especially since Henry is borderline sick. A smile tugs at his lips at the telltale sound of careful steps down the stairs, but it falters when it pauses for too long a time. Henry doesn’t call for him, doesn’t greet him, until Alex has to walk over to see what’s keeping him.

Henry is standing still at the bottom of the staircase, his gaze turned away. He’s holding the banister with one hand, while the other is clenched into a fist at his side, matching the deep frown that seems carved between his brows.

“Baby? Henry, what’s wrong?” Alex says, swallowing down his concern to keep his voice calm. “ _Henry_?” he repeats, louder, when he gets no response.

Slow as if half-asleep, Henry lifts his head to look at him. He forces the most pitiful excuse for a smile he’s ever given him, yet its intention is clear in the way his features soften at his sight. It makes Alex’s heart twist, pulled into different directions by fondness and concern alike. 

“Hey,” Henry greets, his voice hoarse like he’s dehydrated. His smile crumbles, his lips now trembling along with his words. “Alex—” He pauses to clear his throat, wincing at the sound of his voice. “Do you think—I-I texted Philip to make sure, and he says everyone is feeling fine.”

“You think you got food poisoning?” Alex asks, coming to stand next to him.

“…bst”

“Sorry, what?”

Henry’s whole face scrunches up, as if this concentration is costing him something. “At. Best.” He presses two fingers to the spot between his brows, pressing down hard with his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

Alex hovers next to him, uncertain. “What do you mean ‘at best’? What’s the worst? Hen, why don’t you just sit down for a second?”

One step. He takes a single step forward before he goes completely rigid. His eyes drift to Alex’s, and they’re wide and blue and terrified. But Alex doesn’t have to process the sight, for Henry blinks rapidly a few times to clear his vision and lets his gaze drop to the ground. “Catch me,” he mutters, so quiet, Alex is certain he’s misheard.

“What?”

That’s when Henry’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he falls forward, limp and lifeless onto Alex.

“ _Shit._ Henry!” Alex fumbles to grab a hold of him, latching on to his clothes with one hand, trying to position the other under his armpit. His head ends up on Alex’s shoulder and he can feel it lolling against him as he struggles to shift his weight around. 

Alex can’t _breathe_ . He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. “ _Henry?”_ he gasps, knowing he won’t get an answer. Finally he manages to balance Henry’s weight against his own and he lowers him down to the floor. He tries to be gentle, he swears he’s trying so hard not to hurt him, but his hands are shaking so hard, the tremors travel over to Henry’s limp body by touch alone. “Sweetheart, baby, what’s wrong? _Henry_?” 

He hears barking and tears his gaze away from Henry’s pale face for one painful second to see David rushing towards them, frantic and upset. He pushes himself under Henry’s hand, trying to get him to react, crying pitifully when he remains still and unresponsive. Alex takes a couple of deep breaths, and a moment to comfort himself so he doesn’t completely lose it when Henry needs him the most. He pushes Henry’s hair back from his face, stroking his cheeks, hoping he’ll see him stirring and all Alex will have to do is drive him to the hospital for a check-up. He won’t even scold him for insisting he was fine. Promise.

He’s seen Henry through a lot of bad things. He’s talked to him through panic attacks and bad days and grieving days and all kinds of stress and sadness and sickness. But he’s never been helpless. He’s never been unresponsive, and Alex has never _ever_ been this terrified for anything in his life because he’s here all by himself with his passed-out boyfriend who’s about eight hours too late to have alcohol poisoning. But he’s spent those hours away from him so Alex can’t _possibly_ know what went wrong or where, and Henry just won’t _wake the fuck up_.

Alex starts talking to the dog, and he knows it’s more to ground himself than anything else. “Okay, listen up, keep-keep an eye on him, okay? I need two minutes, I need to find his phone, I need to call Shaan, he’ll know what to do, and-and _fuck,_ fuck Henry, _please_.”

He’s already rummaging through Henry’s coat when he remembers him saying he texted his brother. So, okay, he took it out of his coat when he walked in, it’s either upstairs or on him, and—

David starts barking again, louder, faster than before, crying with fear and Alex almost falls over trying to get there fast enough.

“No, no, no, no, please, no.”

Alex falls to his knees next to Henry, his frame wracked with sobs he can’t force back anymore, yet he forces himself to check the time. 

Henry’s eyes are slightly parted, with only the whites showing. His body is rigid, though his back arches as spasms run through him. An odd, harsh noise marks his struggling breaths that’s almost overshadowed by how _loud_ David’s cries are next to him.

Alex grabs the pup too fast, before he has a chance to dwell on what he’s doing, and takes him away from Henry. David g _rowls_ at him and for a second he thinks he might actually bite him. But all he does is whimper pitifully, sending daggers through Alex’s already bleeding heart. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I need to help him. You gotta let me help him,” he pleads, giving another dozen silent apologizes as he sets him down on the bathroom and shuts the door on him. It does little to stifle his crying that increases in volume at being left alone.

Amy taught him first-aid once. It was agreed it might be a good idea to know these things, especially with how much more dangerous their lives got after the election, and she was more than happy to comply. Alex memorized the steps to CPR, the different methods to deal with panic attacks, but he never thought he’d have to practice what he learned about seizures.

Now, in the worst moment of his life, he digs for buried knowledge he _knows_ he has, and prays he doesn’t fuck this up because he didn’t pay enough attention. He doesn’t know if he could ever live with that.

Alex grabs the blanket from the couch and places it under Henry’s head. He forces his hands to steady, biting on his lips hard enough to draw blood, but manages to loosen the top two buttons of Henry’s shirt. 

And suddenly, he’s out of things to do, with nothing left but to wait and cry and hope, staring at the clock on the wall and screaming on the inside, begging for Henry to stop before the time mark. _Please, please stop before it gets dangerous. Please, be okay. Please._

Three minutes.

Three thirty.

Four minutes.

“ _Please_ …” He knows he has to call for help, he has to call an ambulance or at least get his own fucking phone to get Cash or Shaan or _anyone,_ but his legs are pliable beneath him and he can’t _move_. If he takes his eyes away from Henry for even a second he could lose count, or miss a sign or lose… lose him.

 _Four thirty_.

Alex lets out a pained moan. It matches perfectly with David’s agonized howling in the other room.

As if he hears them, or if the universe decided to grant him a bit more leeway to breathe, Henry settles down. For a second, all Alex can do is collect himself, letting the relief release the pressure around his lungs. He breathes and he cries for those extra thirty seconds, then fishes Henry’s phone out of his pocket now that he can touch him.

He doesn’t bother with calling. He hits the emergency button on his phone, knowing Henry has programmed it to send the alert straight to Shaan. “Help me,” he says through clenched teeth for the audio recording that’s supposed to go with it. A few more minutes of concentration, he promises himself. A few minutes. He can do this. Shaan will be here soon, he has to be.

There’s some sort of recovery position, he knows that, he does. But what is it? If he tries the wrong one could he end up hurting him more?

Ales pulls at his curls, breathing fast, trying to get himself to remember. What _is_ it?

Harsh knocks come from the door and Alex thinks he might actually hug Shaan today. The floor underneath him solidifies at last when he hears his voice from the other side. “Sir?”

“Come in!” Alex yells. “Hurry!” He doesn’t turn back to look at Shaan, just waits to make sure he’s close enough to hear, before he starts rambling, hoping at least half of what he says makes sense, so at least _one_ of them can be useful. “Shaan, you have to help me. I should have called an ambulance, I’m sorry, I’ll do that, I’ll do that now. Fuck, that was so stupid, I’m sorry. Can you help me? I can’t remember—I can’t _fucking_ remember how I’m supposed to turn him, it’s so fucking stupid, I _know_ this, please help me.”

“Calm down.” Shaan kneels down next to him, his gaze burning with concentration as he looks over Henry. “Did he faint?” he asks, pressing two fingers on his neck. There is an urgency to the clipped edge of his tone, but his voice is steady, filled with the kind of determined calm Alex has failed so far. Shaan leans forward with his head over Henry’s mouth to check his breathing.

Fuck, he was supposed to do that too. Fuck

“He- yes, at first, but then he—He had a-a seizure?”

Shaan’s head snaps towards Alex and for one second, gone so fast Alex is not sure he didn’t imagine it, he sees the barest hint of panic in his eyes. “Okay,” he nods and gets back to work. “Did you keep track of the time?” He takes Henry’s right hand and crosses it over his neck to rest on the left side of his face, then bends his right leg. 

Alex marvels at the way he’s touching him, firm yet gentle, every move careful, every touch measured despite the urgency of the situation. Keeping one hand on top of Henry’s to the side of his face, and one on his bent knee, Shaan rolls him to his side, cradling his head until it's safe to set him down. He checks his breathing one more time.

“Did you keep track of the time?” he asks again.

“Sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry. 4 minutes, 35 seconds? Might be 45, I-I wasn’t there when it started, David started barking and— _shit_.” He knows he’s spiraling and this is the worst possible moment to spiral, but as the responsibility shifts from his shoulders, everything he shoved behind it so he could function has suddenly found the space to lash at him.

Shaan places one hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly as he pulls out his phone with the other. “You did well. Let me take it from here. Understood?”

Alex nods, feeling the warmth of fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. His attention shifts to Henry as Shaan calls for help. He can’t look away from the perfect stillness of his face, latches onto the gentle pink of his lips, showing him he’s still breathing. He’s watching when his nose crinkles ever so little, enough for Alex to notice and hold his breath. 

Henry’s eyes flutter open, glazed over and confused. He gasps, trying to move when Shaan notices he’s awake and presses a steady hand to his shoulder. “You’re okay, Sir. Are you still dizzy?” Henry lets out a grunt that might be a confirmation. He’s still having trouble breathing; the struggle shows in the pain lines drawn across his face. “I need you to relax. Help is coming. You’re going to be fine.”

Henry shifts in his position anyway to rest on his other hand and free the top one in search for Alex.

He takes it in a second, gripping a little too tight, but Henry doesn’t complain. “Just breathe. It’ll be fine.”

“Are… kay?” Henry mumbles, his speech still suffering. 

Alex wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, because how _dare_ he pull a stunt like this and then ask Alex if he’s all right, like he’s not going to have nightmares over this? But he doesn’t say that to him. It’s not his fault. Henry is scared and still so confused, so Alex smiles, even if it’s a little wobbly, and squeezes the hand in his. “I love you so fucking much,” he says and somehow it conveys all of what he means at once.

He’s not sure if somehow Henry’s weak voice managed to reach all the way to the other room to stress David out again, but the barking resumes out of the sudden, loud and desperate. Henry frowns, tilting his head slightly towards the sound. “Is he okay?”

Alex wants to join David in crying again. Or yelling. He scrapes that thought as well, but places his free hand on Henry’s back, tracing circles on his shirt. “He’s fine. He’s just worried about you. As am I. Focus on getting better.”

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz,” Shaan calls him, and he might be the only person who can tear his attention away from Henry right now. “What was he like before he fainted? Was his behavior odd?”

“He was a bit out of it. Like drunk?”

Shaan scowls for a second, before he schools his expression back to normal. “Still?” He pauses, thinking it through. “He was sleeping throughout most of the flight and the car ride here, I didn’t notice…”

Henry groans, eyes shut and crinkled in the corners with tension.

“This… can’t be alcohol poisoning, could it?” Alex asks. His fingers clench around the fabric of Henry’s shirt on instinct. “Shush, baby, shh… It’s okay.”

Soon Henry starts to quiet down, the pain relaxing off his face, though his breathing is still shaky and out of pace. Shaan places a hand on his cheek and taps him, the gesture careful but firm. “Sir. Stay awake for me.” Henry moans, but doesn’t open his eyes until Shaan gently slaps him again. “ _Sir._ ”

“Msorry.”

The ambulance arrives soon after, and Alex barely remembers to open the door for David to have the rest of the house before he leaves. Shaan describes the situation to the paramedics, as Alex promises and apologizes and just holds the poor pup close until they have to leave.

Shaan takes the car and Alex (and Cash, who heard the sirens of the ambulance and decided to join them)and they rush to the hospital, only to be trapped in the hell of the waiting room. Any relief Alex may have felt when Henry woke up mostly coherent dissipates as the minutes pass by with no news of his condition.

He doesn’t quite have the energy to pace, so he sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair, tapping his foot a mile a minute and probably annoying the hell out of Cash sitting next to him, who’s too nice to say anything about it. Shaan is off to the side, making about a hundred phone calls, so by the time he joins them it’s a good hour later and no doctor has been out to talk to them yet.

Alex places his hands on his knees, gripping until it hurts, in an attempt to stop himself from moving. “Who were you talking to?”

Shaan looks over to him and at last the fatigue of the day seems to leave marks on him. A few hairs have been pushed out of place, and the collar of his shirt is slightly asymmetrical like he loosened it at some point to get some air. “Prince Philip,” he says, eying the chair next to Alex, before dismissing the thought.

“You called his family?” Fuck. Alex should have done that. He should probably call his own family too. “Why not Catherine?”

“I called him so he can get everyone checked.”

Alex feels the twist in his guts, but doesn’t acknowledge it, not until Shaan answers him. “Checked for what?”

“Poisoning.”

He doesn’t know what expression he wears right then, but it alarms Cash enough to place a hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. Alex has to swallow the bile back from his throat. He grips tighter at the fabric of his pants, trying to keep his breathing steady. 

How many times has he been briefed on safety precautions? How many times has he been taught that people might be out to get him? PPOs and security teams are part of their day to day life, so _how_ has Alex never prepared himself for the possibility that the danger might actually become real?

But he knows how. It’s because Henry is so kind he can’t fathom living in a world that wants to hurt him. Because the idea that someone went purposefully out of their way to take him from them makes him want to scream and cry and break something. Because Henry did not _deserve_ this. He did not deserve to have to call an ambulance in his own home, he did not deserve to feel unsafe in his own brother’s watch, he did not deserve to have his own fucking dog crying for him, or his boyfriend desperately trying to remember first aid training from four years ago to make sure he didn’t hurt himself further. He doesn’t deserve the nightmares they’re both sure to have, the tears and the paranoia that are bound to follow. 

Henry should be at home right now, cuddled and _loved_ in his arms. Not alone somewhere in a hospital, with Alex trying hard not to cry too far away, in a cold, heartless waiting room.

 _You think you got food poisoning_? Alex asked earlier, when Henry was trying so hard to tell him something.

 _At best_.

He bites down so hard on his lips it hurts. “I think he figured it out too. He just couldn’t concentrate enough to tell me. _Fuck_. I should have—”

“You couldn’t have known,” Cash immediately interferes. “You did well.”

“I should have _called_ someone. He-he told me you were going to get him medicine, I thought you’d come by, and I didn’t think—”

Shaan frowns. “I never said anything of the kind.”

“Then why would he say that?”

“He was extremely confused. But if you’re not aware of what to look for, it will appear as though he’s merely drunk. Do not blame yourself. I failed to notice it as well.”

Alex rubs a hand across his face, trying to pull himself together, but gives up after a moment, letting his head fall into his hands instead. “What was it?” He sees Cash shift next to him from the corner of his vision and lifts his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the doctor coming their way. Shaan meets her halfway. Alex gathers all the strength he has left to push himself upright in his chair.

“Alex, _breathe_ ,” Cash says next to him. “It’ll be fine. You caught it in time.”

“We caught it nine hours later, Cash,” he retorts, his voice too shaky to hold any bite.

Alex’s back straightens with every step Shaan takes back towards them, and by the time he’s in front of them, Alex is ready to jump out of his chair.

“He’s going to be fine. He’s on an IV drip of the antidote, and fortunately we caught it early enough to avoid a dialysis. He’ll be fine.”

A sob breaks free from his lips, his hand flying to his mouth too late to muffle the sound. “What the _fuck_ was it?” Alex dares to ask, even though he doesn’t want to know, he just wants to get to Henry as soon as possible.

“Ethylene glycol.” Shaan’s face darkens, his gaze intensifying with some emotion Alex can’t identify. “I will talk to Prince Philip about it, and I assure you, we will figure out how this was ever allowed to happen.” Then it’s gone, as fast as it appeared. “You should go see him.”

He’s been waiting to hear these words since they got there.

They put Henry in a private room, as far away from the public as possible. It’s quiet in the hall outside his room, and Alex feels a hint of apprehension turning in his stomach. All the images he’s locked out of his mind are slowly coming back to him, and he can’t shake the memory of Henry, pale and shaking on the floor out of his mind. He fears what he’ll find on the other side of the door. But if he doesn’t go inside he won’t be able to take his hand and tell him just how much he fucking loves him, and that’s not a sacrifice he’s willing to make. So Alex pushes open the door, holding his breath against the uncertainty that awaits him.

Henry is asleep on the hospital bed. He’s still a shade too pale, and the darkness under his eyes is starker now, making him look too tired, too broken, though Alex couldn’t be prouder of how hard he fought. A nasal cannula is placed on his face and it clenches his heart to see it, but it could be worse, and he decides instead to shift his attention to the steady rise and fall of his chest, taking comfort in the stable rhythm. An IV is connected to his right arm, and Alex is struck by the fact that whatever is in there is what’s saving his life. That if it wasn’t for this steady little drip…

As if he knows Alex is there, Henry stirs, his lashes fluttering lazily against his cheeks. The smile he gives barely tugs at the corners of his lips, but Alex swears it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He wants to kiss it.

“Sweetheart…” Alex sighs, claiming the chair next to the bed and pushing himself closer to take his hand in one of his.

“Hello, love.” Blond hair flops on his pillow as he tilts his head to look at him. Alex uses his free hand to stroke it away from his eyes, smiling when Henry hums in approval. “What’s the verdict?”

“You’re going to be fine. That’s all you need to worry about right now. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“Is everyone else okay?” He’s glad to note his speech has returned to normal, even if it’s laced with enough exhaustion to make Alex’s heart ache.

“Shaan contacted Philip, they’re going to make sure everyone is okay.” He lifts their joined hands closer and plants a tender kiss to his knuckles. It eases Henry’s smile into something softer, less pained. “Please, get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Don’t apologize. It couldn’t be farther from being your fault. And hell, you even tried to warn me at some point. I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner.”

“Oi, if I can’t apologize, then you can’t either. I can’t even imagine what that must have looked like to you… I’m—” Alex gives him a pointed look, and Henry lets out a breathless little laugh that has his heart truly calming for the first time since Henry walked through the door.

“You know who we should apologize to, though?” Alex says. More careful than he’s ever been in his life, he climbs up on the bed, a little higher up so Henry can rest his head against his chest. “David. So, you’re going to help me pick out something that’ll make him happy, until you can get home and he attacks you with enough kisses to rival even me.”

Henry laughs in earnest now, bringing a huge grin to Alex’s face as well. They browse toys on Alex’s phone, while he takes advantage of his position to play with Henry’s hair. It takes about five minutes to feel him relax against him, lulled into sleep in his arms. Only then does Alex press a kiss to the crown of his head, and lets the tears fall, knowing Henry won’t feel them when they land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... um.
> 
> This storyline will actually be connected over a few of those prompts (because it's convenient when you keep hurting Henry, I MEAN--). I'll let you know in the beginning of each chapter if it's part of the series, of course. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! This was an especially long chapter, whoops. I hope you liked it!
> 
> As always, find me on tumblr @ saltfics ! Till next time~


	3. "Don't you hide that thermometer from me!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don’t you hide that thermometer from me!”,  
> "This is the third time I’ve had to put you back in the bed. Why the heck do you want to lie on the floor so bad?"
> 
> When Alex is sick, he tries his hardest to not make Henry worry. He doesn't quite succeed.

If Henry has learned one thing through living with Alex, is that come injury or illness, he’s nothing if not unpredictable. He can get hit by a car but remain level-headed when Henry is spiraling, agreeing to go to the hospital only to put _his_ mind at ease. Then he gets sick and somehow manages to simultaneously act as if nothing is wrong, but also as if all of his past crimes have gathered into one big karmic amalgamation of punishing hellfire that’s burning him from the inside out. Or, in other words, he’s a couple of degrees higher than the average body temperature.

Of course, Henry is keeping an eye out on that 38-degree fever, but he doubts it’s a manifestation of any of Alex’s past sins.

He’s balancing a tray on one hand as he tries to open the door with the other, while David shuffles about his feet, eager to follow him inside. Alex has been put on strict bed rest for the day, despite his incessant protesting. The thermometer doesn’t lie (even if Alex _insisted_ it was only so high because it’s in Fahrenheit. “So, you’re… 60 degrees below average?” “Why do _you_ know how Fahrenheit works?” “To deal with you.”) Henry peeks his head in, keeping the door mostly closed to see how Alex is doing before letting David inside. What he sees, however, convinces him he has earned a vicious attack. If Alex is going for the hell on earth metaphor, he should know that escaping his punishment leads to a hell hound.

“This is the third time I’ve had to put you back in the bed. Why the heck do you want to lie on the floor so bad?” Henry says, placing the tray on top of the dresser.

Alex is lying on the floor once again, spread out like a starfish with only his head tilted to the side, facing away from them. He groans, unwilling to move, until David steps all over his back to reach his face, and attacks him with doggy kisses he knows make Henry feel better when he doesn’t want to move.

It’s a solid theory _,_ Henry thinks, trying not to laugh when Alex yelps at the first lick on his face and scrambles to sit up.

“But the floor is _cool_. It feels nice,” Alex whines. He tries to play with David, but his movements are just uncoordinated enough for the pup to take full advantage of it. David jumps on him and brings him back down for more kisses.

Henry joins them on the floor. He finds the one spot on Alex’s face that David has not covered with slobber and places the back of his palm against it. “You might actually be hotter.”

Alex grins up at him. “Why, Henry, if I knew you had a thing for this, I’d have done it years ago.”

With two arms placed under his armpits, Henry hauls him up, despite the groaning. “And what’s _it_ in this scenario? Getting a fever, lying on the floor, or getting attacked by your own dog?”

“Whichever you like. The dog part sounds the most pleasant though, so, you know, if you want to throw me a bone—uh, pun intended?”

“Pun was terrible.”

Alex mocks a gasp. “You wound me in my time of need.” He settles under the covers again, and Henry sits by his side, brushing the curls away from his eyes. He loathes seeing Alex sick, but there’s something precious about the way he looks up at him, the brown of his eyes softened with trust, the tilted smile on his face lightened with fondness. And though Henry prefers to see him bright and loud and so obnoxiously _Alex,_ he marvels at the pure domesticity of this moment and how lucky he got to be a part of it and see him so undone and unrefined, so beautifully at home.

“So you admit you’re sick then? And you’ll stay in bed?” Alex sighs at whatever look Henry is wearing. “Please?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. What d’ ya bring?” he asks, peering at the forgotten tray.

Henry plants a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Thermometer first. You’re really… feverish.”

“You were going to say hot again there, weren’t you?”

Henry comes back with the thermometer, places it under Alex’s armpit, and kisses his shoulder when he crosses his arm to keep it in place. “Don’t move it.”

Alex grunts a confirmation, or something close to it.

Henry heads back to feed David too as they wait, the puppy following in his footsteps. By the time he returns, Alex has retrieved the tray on his own and he’s eating the soup Henry brought him with surprising eagerness, considering Henry’s the one who prepared it.

“Love? Are you okay?” Henry asks, sitting at the edge of the bed. “What did the thermometer show?”

Alex looks up, twirling the spoon between his fingers. “Oh, it was fine, don’t worry.” He goes back to his food, pointedly not looking at Henry.

“Alex.”

“Aren’t you going to eat? It’s pretty good.”

“Alex, my cooking is not great enough for you to be _this_ devoted to it.” Alex snorts but continues eating without replying. “Where is it?”

“I put it away. It was fine.”

Henry looks at the nightstand on Alex’s side. Alex follows his gaze and tenses.”Uh—”

“Alex, don’t you hide that thermometer from me,” he scolds without any real bite, and stretches over him to reach for the nightstand’s drawer. He moves to open it, and Alex tries to stop him, but he can still reach the inside of that drawer with no significant trouble.

“Fuck, how are you _this_ tall?” Alex grumbles when Henry pulls back with the thermometer in hand. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because the reading is gone.”

“It saves the last result, actually,” he says, turning it on.

“Henry—”

39 degrees. Henry’s heart plummets to his stomach, “I don’t understand.” He rubs at his eyes, trying not to hyperfixate on the wrong thing. _Deal with the fever first, don_ _’t get upset about this, not now_. “All right. All right. I’ll go get you some medicine. If I find you out of this bed, so help me, Alex…”

His expression must match the nasty feeling in his chest, for Alex grabs a fistful of his sweater and tugs him before he can leave. “Sweetheart…”

Henry squeezes the hand holding him with his own and detaches it, setting it back down Alex’s side. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

But removing himself from Alex’s presence is the wrong choice. It leaves him with a moment to his thoughts when his thoughts are the one thing he needs to avoid right now. Pressure started building on his chest since the moment he saw what Alex hid from him, and it keeps climbing upwards now, catching in a knot around the muscles of his neck, pushing against his molars. He can only hope it’ll stop before it reaches his eyes because if he starts crying now he won’t be able to hide it from Alex.

Alex, who pretends he’s okay, who hides that he’s sick, who won’t tell Henry he needs him. Or perhaps he doesn’t need him, and Henry is trying so hard not to board that train of thought because if he doesn’t fall in front of the tracks, it’ll take him first-class to _why doesn_ _’t Alex want me there_?

But it’s so selfish of him to stress about this now, with the fever climbing like this. So he clenches his teeth, sticks out his jaw, and plasters on a smile he hopes doesn’t look too fake, small enough to be believable.

Alex is watching him when he walks in, a frown on his face, a thin film of sweat glinting on his forehead.

Henry sighs at the sight. “Love, how are you feeling? You don’t look very well.” He resumes his spot next to him, and hands him a glass of water along with two pills he removes from the packaging. He bites down a genuine smile when Alex places them on his tongue, scrunching his nose like a child before he can wash away the taste with the water.

“Well— _blergh_ —well, right now I’m a little scared you’re mad at me.”

He checks his forehead again, then lets his fingers get tangled in Alex’s curls, pushing them away from where they’re sticking to his forehead. “I’m not mad at you,” he says, planting a kiss to the top of his head. “But you should get some rest.”

“Okay, but you’re upset, so.”

“I’m fine, love.”

“Henry, come on. Look, I’m sorry I hid it but—”

“It’s _fine_ , Alex. What’s important now is you getting better, and if you don’t want me here for it, that’s okay—”

“Wait, _what_?”

“—but you have to promise me you’ll take care of yourself, because right now you’re… you’re scaring me.”

Alex pushes himself to his knees. He takes Henry’s face in his hands, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs. “Baby, baby, _no._ Hang on. It’s not—it’s not what you think. Like, at _all._ I’m so sorry I ever made you think that—”

“I know I can get incredibly overbearing—”

He presses his lips to his, the most effective way known to get Henry to stop talking. “No. No, shut up. Shut right up. That’s not it at all. I love having you take care of me, okay? It’s so…”

“Annoying?”

“ _Domestic,_ ” Alex corrects, sending him a very pointed look. “And I fucking love you so much. But…” He lowers his hands from his face, and takes Henry’s to hold tight, squeezing when he’s uncertain how to explain himself. “I just really hate worrying you, you know? And… I know you’re going to worry, because you love me, but I hate seeing that look on your face.”

“What look?” Henry tilts his head, trying to catch Alex’s gaze from where he’s lowered it.

“… Like you’re scared.” Alex falls back on the bed, sitting up against the headboard. “I don’t want to be the reason you look like that. I know you’re well within your rights to do so, and I’m not exactly known for being careful. And yeah, okay, I’d probably be worse than you if tables were turned, but…”

He gets quieted down the same way, the tables already reversed. Alex smiles when Henry pulls back, a hesitant joy catching on the corners of his lips.

“You’re sweet, but don’t worry about me, love.”

“I’ll always worry about you.”

“Then you can’t blame me for doing the same thing, now can you?” Henry teases, grinning when Alex gets the most offended expression on his face. “I only want you to feel better. Focus your energy on getting some rest instead of hiding things from me.”

He lets Henry push him into a lying position and lift the covers over him.

“Not sure you can focus your energy into resting.”

“You can make the effort to actually lie in bed and close your eyes, instead of reaching for the laptop that I _know_ you hid in the dresser, and which I will most definitely take on my way out.”

Alex groans yet doesn’t deny it. What he does, however, is grab Henry’s hand before he can leave. “Stay with me? Can you bring your work here? Or maybe you could… um… read? I like the sound of your voice when my head hurts.”

Henry smiles at the last part. He knows it’s Alex’s roundabout way of admitting weakness like he’s asked of him. “As long as you’re sure you want me with you.”

Alex’s grip tightens. “ _Always_.”

He brings their intertwined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of Alex’s hand. “Of course, love. Let me go get my stuff. Besides, I believe we’re well past any concerns of me getting sick, since you’ve already kissed me.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“Don’t you know that the quickest way to get rid of a cold is to pass it?”

“I’m like 99% sure that’s not scientific. No. No way.” Henry watched as Alex’s frown deepens, as he probably replays the events of the day in his mind, for once noticing all the proximity. “Shit. Shit, _fuck._ I’m so sorry.”

He returns with a book and his own laptop for later and climbs on the bed. Alex, despite his great remorse, must also realize they’re far too late to be cautious now, and he tucks himself on Henry’s side, his head resting against his chest. “I’m sorry for possibly passing on my germs to you,” Alex grins, though his voice sounds somewhat apologetic.

Henry kisses the top of his curls, splitting into a smile when he feels him snuggle closer towards him. “You’re worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm *incapable* of writing oneshots apparently, so you can assume most of them (unless stated otherwise) are part of the same universe, just not in chronological order! This one references chapter one!
> 
> Also the next chapter will *probably* be the continuation for chapter 2 and I should mention that this series of fics is in-universe with 'in white' (because I spent 18k writing a redemption arc, I might as well use it. You don't need to have read it beforehand though, I'll note any important information)!
> 
> That's all for now! Please let my know what you thought and you can always find me on tumblr @ saltfics! Till next time~


	4. 2. "Come on, say something"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We grew up on those stairs. The only people who could hurt us in there were each other."_
> 
> aka the "I spent 45 minutes researching staircases just so I can push a character down one" fic.
> 
> Prompt of the day: "*name*? Say something to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Two important things about this chapter:
> 
> \- this chapter is a direct continuation of chapter 2. Lots of references included!
> 
> -this chapter (and this fic, unless stated otherwise) is compliant with my other fic 'in white'. You don't need to have read it beforehand and there are only two references from it in the very beginning but what is important to note is that PHILIP HAS HAD A REDEMPTION ARC in this. So they do mostly get along.
> 
> One less important thing to note: this chapter is very soapy and the medical accuracy is not at its best. I apologize at least a little. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy anyway!

For the longest time, Kensington Palace used to be less than a home for him. It’s gotten better since his nephew was first born, since he and Philip started to get closer. He changed the narrative himself so he could learn to not dread his visits. He unearthed his childhood memories to drape over the rooms he walked and covered the ghosts that lingered from centuries’ worth of grief. He tucked a memory between the cushions of the couch, of movie nights watching dad’s films, and the way he pretended to be bashful but smiled at the enthralled look on his children’s faces. He poured the sound of Bea’s voice over the reading nook, soft-spoken words hiding between the books on the shelves. He heard Philip’s footsteps rushing up the stairs, when their grandmother wasn’t around to reprimand them for running in the house, and the only person he had to please was his little brother. Henry would race him knowing he would lose because he saw how much Pip loved to win. And his mother, he saw reflected in the little trinkets around the sitting room, those remnants of the rebellious young princess, bright curiosities with stories she would share freely with them no matter how many times they asked.

And it worked for a while, pushing the good things in front to stifle the bad, allowing himself to remember his childhood despite the pain, because feeling the ghosts in the room pulling him away from the family he had left hurt him more in the long run. Perhaps it was nothing more than plastering wallpaper over broken walls, but Philip and Bea must have unwittingly caught up to it, because they tried their hardest to keep the illusion up, adding pieces of patchwork of their own to fill up the hole gnawing behind it. It held a piece of them and Henry held on to it too.

“Alternative suggestion,” Henry whispers, quiet so only his brother can hear, as they make their way up the stairs for a meeting that for some reason it was deemed of the utmost importance that Henry joins in too since he’s in England anyway. “You attend this meeting, and I go babysit your son.”

Philip smirks, not unkindly. “I’m afraid I can’t spare you from this one. I will, however, do my best to wrap it up as quickly as possible, so you don’t have to feign another emergency.”

Henry chokes on a laugh. “If you’re referring to your dinner party, may I remind you that I was, in fact, poisoned during that time, hence under a very _real_ emergency?”

“And yet, that was not the excuse you chose,” Philip points out. He just shrugs in response, unapologetic. Not even poison or injury can stop his brother from being just enough of a dick, apparently. “Come now. You’ve survived worse.”

Henry decides not to tell him that apart from their grandmother, the worst meetings he has survived were the ones with Philip himself.

They seat themselves around the room, their guests already pulling out folders from leather briefcases so new he can still catch a whiff of the telltale scent of them. Shaan and two of Philip’s security team are off to the side, silent but watching over them. Despite himself, Henry gives him a small smile as he settles down.

Shaan has been in a bad mood since the ‘incident’. It’s almost impossible to notice that Shaan even _has_ a bad mood, but for Henry, who has spent years under his watch, it’s clear in the way his silence weighs around them, in the subtle acts of protectiveness that stretch further than they would. The only other person who noticed was Zahra… who in turn asked Henry about it, and then spent two hours yelling at Alex for not telling any of them they went to the hospital.

Alex too has been different. He almost threw a fit at the idea of Henry traveling to England alone. ‘Someone tried to kill you there, H, and they still haven’t found who it was!’ he protested, and Henry’s ‘If someone truly wanted to kill me, I imagine they wouldn’t have waited until I was back in the country to do so,’ did very little to convince him. Even so, neither of them could avoid their responsibilities. Alex does check-in every two hours or so as compensation, and if Henry is being honest, he knows he would have been a lot worse about it had Alex been the one in danger.

But Henry doesn’t like to think about the incident. Not unless he has to, usually late at night or in the wee hours of the morning after one or both of them have woken up in various states of disarray. Alex tends to wake up with his name on his lips. Henry wakes up gasping, but it’s not him who ends up in tears when that happens. More than wishing himself safe, he can only hope with everything in him that he never puts Alex through that again.

He swears he’s listening and not grasping for an excuse to do anything else when the phone rings. Philip shoots him a look, but to Henry’s surprise, he does need to excuse himself for this. “I apologize, but this might be urgent. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

He waves Shaan off when he moves to follow him outside, then gives him an apologetic smile once he catches him tensing slightly in displeasure. “I’ll be just outside, I need to take this,” he whispers. Philip’s guard eyes the two of them curiously.

His pulse spikes at how upset the voice sounds on the phone. Claire, one of the caretakers at the shelter, sounds ashamed to disturb him while he’s away, hesitant to talk to him, even though it’s clear from the waver in her voice that something bothers her too much to deal with it alone. She keeps apologizing for disrupting him, sure he must be doing something important. Henry feels a thin but heavy weight wrap itself around his heart, dragging it all the way down to his stomach, where the acid flares, angry and vile like disappointment. While he stopped wishing he could be normal years ago, back when he thought he understood the pointlessness of hoping for things, it still hurt at times. Times like this. They built the shelter together, made it safe, a home, took care of every person in it. _Together_. And yet Henry is still someone unreachable. Someone who comes over and helps when he can but should not be bothered. He’s barred from the home he made himself.

Even if Claire is one of the newer interns, it hurts to hear the apprehension in her voice, the way she implies Henry is not supposed to care.

Henry moves away from the rooms to not disturb them, stopping only when he reaches the staircase. He contemplates sitting down for a moment, before he shakes that thought away. If one of their guests caught him sitting on the steps like a child he’d never hear the end of it. Instead, he rests one hand on the banister, curling his fingers around the polished wood, and presses the phone close to his ear.

There’s a window directly across from him, over the entrance at the bottom of the staircase. The afternoon light washes over him behind pale gray clouds, painting everything in muted white accents, softening the harshness of the day as it fades. Henry closes his eyes against it, letting the image of it linger in his mind, and holds himself calm as he reassures her on the other end. A window was broken on the first floor, and they’re still not sure if someone broke it on purpose, on accident, or if it was one of their own kids who would not fess up.

The paranoid part of his mind that has been living with an Alex stressed out beyond belief, and a more composed yet equally over-protective Shaan pauses to wonder if this was, in fact, vandalism, and if it had to do anything with him. He files that thought away for later.

After instructing her to get someone to fix the window, of course, as soon as possible, and keep an eye out for similar incidents but let the kids know what’s going on, Henry promises her one last time that she’s always welcome to call him for anything at all, and hangs up.

He didn’t notice someone walk up behind him, but he sees the blur of a shadow on his back now. Henry turns to his left to look. It’s his right he needs to watch out for, where two hands spread on his back and give an abrupt _push_.

Henry trips over his own feet and falls forward, and the momentary, sudden panic becomes entangled with this unique sense of defying gravity to lift his stomach all the way to his throat. But he can only defy it for a moment, a single, drawn-out second of hazy, surreal incomprehension, where his body, untethered from the ground below, feels almost otherworldly. And for that second alone, he forgets what happens when he lands, just watches the light from the window ahead paint over the staircase, its glow reflected in the white of the banister.

But he does land. He grasps, helpless, for anything to hold on to. He’s not fast enough, and though his hand grabs at the surface of the wood, and feels his shoulder _pulled_ from his socket, a searing flare traveling up and down his arm, he can’t hold on to it. The only thing it does is shift his weight around and crushes the last piece of hope he has that maybe he’ll come out unharmed.

He won’t remember the pain from the impact, but he will never forget the way his breath is forced out of his lungs when his back strikes against the floor. Too many stimuli assault his senses, strikes lighting up his nerves throughout his body, until all he can sense is blind, raging _panic._ It can’t last more than a few seconds but it feels like he’s holding his breath for longer and longer, waiting for something to drop, for the change that will leave him jumbled and broken, because even if it hurts, the all-encompassing _everything_ that has taken over his senses covers him—that bubble of shock and confusion somehow protects him from whatever will happen to him when he reaches the end. It’s so much, too much, it’s _everything_ and he can’t even remember to try to protect himself.

The last thing he registers is a sickening crack breaking through the tentative silence. At least when the world fades to black, it doesn’t hurt anymore.

…

He wakes up to someone screaming over him.

His eyes flutter open and he has to blink to clear his vision, yet it still comes out blurred. There’s a person hovering over him, golden hair spread like a halo around her face. With the anguish drawn over her delicate features, she looks like a martyr. Her lips move, quivering, but he can’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. He blinks up at her, confused, and she places a hand on his cheek. It’s soft and cool, and Henry almost closes his eyes at the small piece of precious comfort when his entire body is a jumbled mess of over-firing nerves and points of pain. But his hearing is starting to return to him and he latches onto the voice above him, hoping for some recognition.

“…ry? Oh, dar…ng, please… with me.” Henry frowns, flinching when it pulls at a wound on his face. She looks up somewhere away from him, tears spilling from her eyes, and _screams_.

“ _Philip!_ ”

Footsteps rush from somewhere above him… behind him? He tries to tilt his head but it stretches his spine, sending shock-waves all through his body. He scrunches his eyes against the pain as the sound gets louder, and the staircase shakes. Henry can feel it resonate through the wood where he’s still spread over the last few steps.

“What in the name of—” Henry opens his eyes again to see a second figure show up next to her. He joins her on the floor, and she moves to the side, letting him take over. “Hen _ry_ ..?” The voice wavers and cracks along with his expression. “Bloody hell—can you hear me? _Henry?_ Come on, say something to me.”

“I found him here,” Martha sobs, the sound muffled from the hand covering her mouth. “I don’t-I was just coming to find you, I don’t know what happened…”

He parts his lips to shape the words, but when air tries to leave his lungs, all he gets out is a cough that rattles his ribcage until he gasps in drawn-out yet hollow sounds that bring an odd taste to the back of his throat. Philip swears, rubbing a hand across his face, and it looks like he can crumble his expression like a shirt, for it comes out even more broken when he reveals it again. It looks so wrong on him, Henry can almost believe he’s recognized him wrong. His brother reaches out to touch him and the gentleness to it only convinces him of the illusion. His fingers prod, careful; they go through his forehead, get tangled in his hair. But they touch something _wrong_ and Henry hisses as it flares.

_He’s four when he slips down the stairs the first time. He doesn’t hit his head but he does twist his ankle on the way down and lands roughly on the next step on his bum. The ache brings tears to his eyes, and they spill down his chubby cheeks when he tries to put weight on his leg. More than anything, he’s afraid he’ll get scolded because he knows he’s not supposed to try going down this staircase on his own._

_The door to the apartments is pushed ajar, and the welcoming summer breeze is what led him to try to go out in the first place, to join his siblings in the gardens. Footsteps reach him from the porch now, and Henry quickly wipes the streaks from his face, hoping he won’t get caught crying._

_Pip shows up at the door, his cheeks flushed and his hair ruffled. There are grass stains over his shorts and speckles of dirt litter his knees. His eyes land on Henry, sitting in the middle of the staircase, his nose red from crying, and he frowns. The expression should be too grown-up for his face, yet it fits him well. “What are you doing?”_

_“Nuthin.”_

_Pip steps closer. He crouches in front of him, studying his position. “Did you fall? You know, you’re not supposed to go down the staircase alone.”_

_“I didn’t_ fall, _” he lies, his voice pitched and indignant, but he doesn’t like that little smirk on his brother’s face. “’M fine.”_

_Pip narrows his eyes at him. “All right, if you’re sure. I’ll just go then.”_

_He moves to get up but Henry reaches out, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “No, wait!” He bites hard on his lip, contemplating what he’s about to do. “Don’t go.”_

_“Did you hurt yourself?” Henry shakes his head, convincing no one. “If Dad asks you the same question, will you have the same answer?” He thinks it wiser not to answer this question, but he stares at his brother, eyes large and still a little wet, silently begging him for help he doesn’t want to admit._

_Pip sighs but turns around for Henry to climb on his back. He gathers as much annoyance as he can into his voice. “For just this once. Come on. And be careful on the stairs, Henry, they’re old.”_

When Philip pulls back there’s a thin layer of red coating his fingertips. Martha has her hands covering her mouth, as he turns to someone nearby. “Can you-can you help him? Call for help.”

“Let me see him, your Highness.”

Philip tries to move away, and some part of Henry that’s still lost croaks out twenty-year-old pleas between his ragged breathing. “Wait—” he gasps, coughing. “Don’t…”

Another voice comes from the open door, and the pressure in his head spikes so much he has to bite down a sound of pain. “Martha? Was that you screaming? What—”

“Don’t _come in here_!” Philip snaps, harsh and absolute. His voice echoes with the ghosts of his past and they push against Henry’s fragile grasp on the fondest of his memories to leave him floating.

_He’s halfway up the stairs, stomping on every step as if he can crush his own heart under his feet and spare them all the fucking trouble. Anger festers in every vein, fueling his blood with emotions as vile as the name they insisted runs along with it._

_Philip follows, trying hard not to yell at him. At least not before they’re behind closed doors. “Will you cease this nonsense?” he calls out from behind him, his frustration clipping his already cold voice. “You’re not a child anymore, so stop acting like one.”_

_Henry turns around so fast, his foot slips on the edge of the step. He lands on the next one, loses his balance and falls forward, hands outstretched. Philip grabs him by the arms, steadying him. They’re still standing too far away from each other, and the distance between them feels like a chasm, carved out by the same grief that kept chopping off pieces of him since Dad went. Philip’s grip is firm, too firm against his skin, and though he knows it won’t bruise, for they spent a lifetime teaching his image how to endure, it’ll leave its own mark on the inside to take up another spot he can’t afford to give._

_Henry looks up at his brother’s face, noting the distaste in his expression. He reaches out with his voice, grasping at straws he can’t even see, hoping for the barest hint of light in the space that separates them. “You don’t actually agree with Gran, do you?”_

_Philip frowns, straightening his already impossible posture. “I believe we were given a responsibility along with our birthright, Henry. I don’t know what Gran told you, but she knows best what it’s like to carry it, and you’d do well not to forget it.”_

_He snatches his hands back, away from his grip, afraid that if he lets Philip hold on to him any longer he’ll pull him in that gaping hole between them. He doesn’t show the pain in his expression. And he hides the pieces that have shattered off of him among the anger, letting it overwhelm everything else because fury is much better than pain and it tricks him into thinking he’s emptier than he is._

_He can’t find his words. He can’t speak to the stranger his brother has become, not when he can’t even understand what has become of himself. So Henry shakes his head and resumes his way up the stairs, stretching the distance between them as much as possible._

_“Be careful on the stairs, Henry,” Philip calls after him, unaware of what he’s echoing._

Go fuck yourself, _he thinks and wishes he had the strength to say it out loud just once._

“Stay _away_ —!” Philip’s voice catches again, breaking the illusion. “Don’t come closer, Beatrice.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bea asks, still outside the door. Martha has gotten up to block her entrance, but the twin trails of tears running down her cheek can’t be reassuring.

“It’s fine,” Philip swallows. Hard. A sickly pallor has spread over his face, while a thin layer of sweat coats his forehead. Henry wants to ask if he’s okay, but his chest hurts too much and he doesn’t think he can afford the breath. “It’ll be fine.”

_“You’re fine, right?” Bea asks, a childish nervousness in her voice, as she runs her fingers through his hair to spot the bump from where he slipped. “You’re okay, right, Hen? You don’t have to tell Mum.”_

_“Do you honestly believe he won’t tell?” Pip scoffs from a few steps behind her._

_Bea rolls her eyes. “He_ might _if I ask nicely. Unlike_ you _.”_

 _“Well, he could be hurt. Shouldn’t we tell a grown-up?” the fourteen-year-old insists. “Besides, you always told on_ me _when you fell.”_

_“Yeah, ‘cause you were never nice about it!”_

_“’Nice’ doesn’t fix injuries!”_

Bea pushes her way inside, adamant to see what’s hidden from her. Henry can’t quite see her expression from his vantage point, but her gasp is stark even above his own labored breathing. “What happened? What happened to him—Philip, what the _hell_ _happened?_ ”

Shaan moves into his line of vision. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket to place it where Philip was poking moments before. “Try not to move, Sir.”

Henry yelps when the fabric presses hard against the wound, sending a flash of light in his mind.

_He remembers sitting upon the same staircase, his tie loosened around his neck, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He can’t recall where he tossed the jacket, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll burn this suit before he’s forced to wear it again. His eyes are heavy and swollen from crying, his hair mussed from pulling at it. There’s something gnawing in his stomach, and as he lets his gaze roam around the walls, darkened into dull, lifeless colors from the rain as if to match Henry to perfection, he feels like punching something when, at the same time, he doesn’t ever want to move again._

_Shaan finds him still perched in the middle of the staircase. His face doesn’t betray any emotion, but he lets the silence between them settle until Henry feels comfortable enough to speak. He’s always been like this. A silent guardian, ready to stand in the rain to watch over him if Henry wished to be soaked._

_Henry doesn’t speak for the longest time, but at the feeling of being watched, no matter how benevolent Shaan’s intentions are, he feels the sob crawl its way up his throat. It steals the breath from his lungs on the way out, making him gasp at the air around them as if this world cannot sustain him anymore. He looks up at Shaan’s blurred figure through tear-filled eyes, speaks behind the hand that tries to muffle his sobs. “What do I do?” he whispers, so much quieter than all the other sounds ravaging him. “What do I do now? How do I know… how do I do the right thing? The thing he’d want me to do—Shaan, tell me what to do.”_

_“I cannot tell you that, Sir.”_

_“_ Please _.”_

_Shaan bites back a sigh and comes closer, extending a hand to help him up. “I cannot speak for your father, Sir. However, I do believe that as long as you’re… true to yourself, so to speak, I think he would be… happy for you. Don’t you think?”_

_“What if I can’t?”_

_“You will.” Shaan’s hand closes over his and he hauls him to his feet._

“…nry? Damn it to hell, _HENRY!”_ Philip snaps at him, before turning to Shaan. “I’ll hold this, you go call for help. Now.”

Shaan, unable to refuse, switches positions with Philip, helps him settle his hand over Henry’s wound, despite how it makes him whimper slightly. When he sees Shaan detach himself from his side, Henry tries to find his voice again. “I’m sorry…” he says, tilting his head towards him ever so little, but it still makes him want to puke.

“He’s more coherent than before,” Martha says in a hushed breath.

Bea takes his hand in both of hers and holds on tight like he’ll slip away if she doesn’t. With the way his mind fades in and out, maybe he will.

Shaan leans over towards him, his gaze loaded with intensity, despite his measured expression. “Sir? Look at me.” Henry swallows back the odd-tasting bile in the back of his throat and blinks up at him. “Did you slip?” He tries to keep control of his breath but it _hurts_ and the question shifts something inside him that catches on his throat again. “Or did someone push you?”

“ _Excuse me_?” Philip asks, appalled, as Martha gasps next to him. Bea turns wide, hollowed eyes to him. Her hands are trembling around his own.

“Forgive me, your Highness, but this is the second time your brother has been involved in something like this in too short of a time, and if someone is actively trying to hurt him, they might still be around.”

“And where have _you_ been during these cases, Srivastava?”

“ _Philip!_ ” Bea snaps, glaring. “Not the time. Actually no, it will never _be_ the time.”

“I’m just asking—”

“Shut up.” She turns to look back at Henry, reaching out to touch him but hesitating a few centimeters above his face. “Just call for help,” she says, voice small, as she finally sinks her fingers in his hair, pushing them away from where they’re sticking to his forehead.

_They don’t let him go pick her up himself, so he waits for her on the staircase. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, knees tucked close to his chest, but soon she shows up, a hesitant smile on her face, a soft gaze full of fondness in her eyes. And she looks well, so well, better than she has in a while, and no matter how happy he is for her, or maybe because of it, Henry starts crying. He doesn’t sob, he doesn’t say anything at all, but he can’t stop the tears from running down his face, slipping inside his fragile smile, salty and ever so slightly warm._

_Bea doesn’t startle at his outburst. She joins him on the step and wraps her arms around his shoulders, even if she can no longer reach around him very well. He grew up too much without anyone noticing and though her arms are full of comfort, he struggles to fit in them. “Shush… Everything’s going to be fine. I promise you.”_

_“I—” He wants to apologize. For crying. For being selfish. For asking everything of her._

_She shushes him again. “Me first. About what you said,” she starts and he stiffens, his pulse picking up. “I love you. Unconditionally. Irrevocably. Do you understand? And you’re good. You’re so,_ so _good, Henry, no matter what anyone else in this godforsaken house tells you. You’re good and I love you and we’re going to be okay.” She plants a kiss on his hair, then pulls him closer to tuck his head under her chin, even if he’s so much taller than her. Somehow he finds the space to fit. “You’re never alone. You’ll never, ever be alone. We’ll hold each other up. I got you, darling.”_

 _“_ Henry? _Henry?_ ” Bea’s voice wavers. Her eyes are bright and swimming with tears. “Please stay with me.”

“The ambulance is here,” Martha calls from the doorway.

Relief floods Bea’s face. Philip places a hesitant hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly and she shuffles closer to him. And Henry sees the uncertain relief on their faces and lets it wash over him as well, numbing some of the pain in his head. And when he can’t soothe the constant strain on his lungs or the way his ribcage sends agonizing strikes of pain with every wrong breath he takes, he finally lets his mind slip completely, not to another time past but to the utter darkness that’s been growing at the edges of his vision, promising him relief, if only he’s willing to let his siblings go.

“Henry? … ry? …ay with … please.”

_“Hen…!”_

He wakes up in bits and pieces. He’s not sure how many times he opens his eyes to bright lights and anxious faces, to voices familiar and unknown, whispering or shouting over him. He doesn’t manage to hold on.

The first time consciousness lasts more than a few seconds, he wakes up with his brother hovering over him, his face coming in and out of focus as he waits out the dizziness.

“Henry? Are you with me, mate?” Philip looks exhausted. His hair is ruffled beyond salvaging and the top buttons of his shirt have come undone. He must see the way Henry’s eyes are focusing on him now because he gives a shaky, half-hearted excuse for a smile as he sighs. “You bastard.”

His senses return to him and so does the ache, coiled tightly around his ribcage, pulsing in a steady beat from the back of his head and his right hand. Henry groans, twisting around on the bed, which only makes it worse.

“You should probably try to remain still,” Philip says, frowning as he places a gentle hand on his shoulder, so unlike him, to keep him in place. “Bloody hell, Henry,” he continues, though Henry’s not sure he’s really addressing him, despite the use of his name. “What did I tell you about having emergencies to avoid meetings? Next time, I beg of you, just ask.”

Henry blinks up at him, slower each time. His fight with consciousness is not one he can win, but he tries, because he wants to understand what the hell Philip is talking about. But Philip seems to notice his conundrum, for he smiles, or tries to, though his brows furrow with something unfortunate that Henry is too tired to name. “It’s all right. Get some rest.”

_“We’ll be here when you wake up.”_

The next time he wakes, he’s aware enough to feel something uncomfortable on his nose. He goes to remove it but a pair of small, warm hands take his own before he can cause any damage. Henry’s eyes flutter open to see Bea smiling down at him, wearing the same pained furrow Philip had last time he was awake. She squeezes his hand and though she sits back down on her seat next to the bed, she doesn’t let go.

Henry groans when he realizes what it is that itches so terribly. “Christ, not again.”

Bea lets out a weak chuckle. Her thumbs are brushing crescents on his palm, keeping both him and herself grounded. “Sorry, darling. You… you punctured your lung.”

“I… _what?_ ” He attempts to sit up, but his chest hurts too much to pressure it for more than one painful second. He deflates back against the pillow. “What happened?”

Her grip on him tightens as her gaze flees to the window. The room is bathed in soft shades of cool light, too scarce to belong to anything but an early sunrise. Has he been sleeping all night? “You… fell down the stairs. Got one concussion for your trouble, a sprain,” she says, nodding towards right arm that he only now notices is tucked in a brace, “a couple of bruises, of course, and a broken rib that ended up piercing your lung.”

Henry swallows, his throat suddenly too dry. He can’t process the full impact of the information yet, despite the aches that made themselves known as soon as she listed them like they were waiting to be announced first. “That’s… A lot… Bea, I’m so so—”

“Don’t you even dare.” Bea shakes her head. Her gaze is lowered, and though her hair hides most of her face, Henry can’t miss the way she brings her hand close to her cheek. He pretends not to see what she’s doing. “But I do need to ask you something,” she adds and sits up, brushing the wayward strands away from her face. “It’s about what Shaan said.”

“Where _is_ Shaan?” Henry asks instead. His heart climbs all the way up his throat at the memories, and he wishes he had lost them somewhere along the way. Henry hasn’t felt the need to punch Philip in a while, and despite how stressed his brother might have been at the time, he deserves a solid punch to the face for he said. “It wasn’t his fault. He-he knows that, right?”

“Henry…” Bea sighs, uncertain.

“It _wasn’t_ . He offered to come out with me, I was the one who was foolish enough to refuse.” He swallows back the rest of the explanation. _We grew up on those stairs. The only people who could hurt us in there were each other._

“Hen, did you slip?” Her fingers around him tighten again, the grip too strong, but he can’t bear to tell her to let go, not when she’s trembling. Bea’s eyes are shot wide, staring at him intently. “Or were you-were you pushed?”

The one memory he didn’t allow himself to recall surfaces behind all the layers and walls that have come forward to protect him. It’s the feeling of hands pressed on his back, and then, slower so he could count each second, the way they left him, the way he floated, unbound, until he crashed. Bile rises up his throat and it must show on his face because Bea lets go of him to bring a wastebasket under his mouth.

Neither his lungs nor his ribs appreciate the treatment, and Henry cringes at the horrible taste that stays in his mouth. He falls back on the bed, taking a minute to just breathe. Bea strokes the hair away from his face. “Are you all right?”

Henry opens his eyes, yet glues them to the ceiling above so he doesn’t have to see her expression when he speaks. “Someone pushed me.”

“Are-are you certain?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I-I need to tell Shaan. Hold on a moment, darling, okay? I’ll be back.”

Henry doesn’t mind being left alone. It gives him a little time to compose himself so he doesn’t break in front of any of his siblings, or Shaan, or worse… _Oh_. He presses his hands hard over his mouth, trying to muffle the choked sound that escapes him. Alex is going to murder him.

No. Alex is going to be destroyed.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep but the next time he wakes up, the sun is setting outside the window and his room is quiet. He looks around and finds both his siblings there for once, sitting in twin chairs at his side, fast asleep. Philip is resting his head on a closed fist, his elbow balancing on the arm of the chair. Bea is tilted all the way to the side to rest against Philip’s shoulder. Henry bites on his bottom lip, holding back a smile at the sight as he feels his chest ache from something other, much bigger than his injury.

And for a person who almost got killed for the second time in far too short a time, he can’t bring himself to feel unsafe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... UM.
> 
> So. This little series of interconnected chapters is obviously not over yet. We still gotta catch the person for one, and also I'm tempted to actually write out Alex's reaction to this whole angstfest. Ahem.
> 
> Before you go, this chapter was like 6k and a pain to edit, please consider leaving a comment on your way out~ Thank you! Till next time!!


	5. "Can I touch you?" (fluff)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt our regularly scheduled angst for a short piece of fluff, feat. HRH Prince Henry.
> 
> Happy Pride, my loves~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT the stairs fic! Though I'll get that one up soon. In honor of Global Pride 2020, here's a short fluff piece taking place after Alex leaves England after coming out/meeting with the Queen. Hope you enjoy!

After leaving Alex at the airport, along with half of his heart that doesn’t ache so raw at the departure anymore, Henry doesn’t immediately head home. It’s been a long, intense, roller-coaster of a day and there’s so much he still needs to process. He’s certain it will come to him later that night when the curtains of his window will not keep away the moonlight, and the shadows of his room will invite the thoughts inside to give shape to his doubts and insecurities. Maybe the muted buzz of a text will light up his phone and chase the shadows away. Maybe for once he won’t need it to, for the memory of a body close to his will linger on the sheets, and the scent of Alex’s hair against the pillow and the knowledge of the incredible thing they achieved today will let him sleep for once, so he can leave the rest of the world to be dealt with in the morning.

But before that, Henry has one last stop for the day. He ropes Shaan into it, who’s willing to indulge him, and whether that’s for his comfort or Shaan is also in a good mood, is for him to know. He even lets him go inside instead of picking the order up and driving back to the palace. That’s how Henry finds himself standing in line at his favourite falafel place, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, which, to be fair, is not a lot.

He makes small talk with Shaan as they wait until he notices something catch his eye behind his shoulder. Henry tenses slightly, even if Shaan doesn’t look alarmed.

“Something wrong?” he asks, trying not to turn around.

Shaan lets his lips curl ever so little, visible only because of their proximity and the years they’ve spent in each other’s company. “Perhaps you should take a look for yourself, Sir.”

Henry is frowning, confused, as he shifts slightly to take a peek behind him. He was only going to take a quick look, but when he sees what caught Shaan’s attention, he can’t help but turn all the way, his eyes widening at the sight.

They’re impossible to miss, standing out with splashes of color against the dull teal wallpaper. The two girls are seated in one of the tables, talking and laughing with each other as they go through their food. Henry’s gaze softens as he watches them for a second, noticing their curious glances and tender touches and content smiles. But it’s their clothes that bring an overwhelming wave of emotion to his chest, submerging him with its strength, not as a man lost in a shipwreck but like a child, experiencing the thrill of a playful wave for the first time. The shorter one, the blonde, has rainbows painted on her eyelids with shimmering eyeshadow and the brightest shade of metallic fuchsia lipstick Henry has ever seen. She has twin hearts drawn on her cheeks with white eyeliner, one filled with a Pride flag and the other with the Union Jack. A jean jacket is covering her t-shirt but he can see hints of lettering, hand-drawn on her yellow shirt and he can just about guess what they’re saying. The other is sporting the bisexual flag, not on her eyelids but crossing her face in a huge glittery line like war paint. Purple suspenders over a pink and blue shirt and an equally purple ruffled skirt that looks like it’ll twirl when she moves.

The blonde laughs at something and as she throws her head back, she catches sight of Henry looking at her. She looks back to her companion at first, then does a quick double-take and snaps her head back at him, gaping.

Unsure of what else to do, Henry smiles. It’s bigger and less dignified than anything he has allowed himself in public but it might be the only thing that can cover up the mist gathering in his eyes. He feels like he should say something. There’s only one place those two could have gone today in these outfits and the gratitude washes away the memories of his family’s hatred that still cling to his skin like a layer of filth. “Thank you,” he mouths and he hopes she believes him.

She gets up and takes a few tentative steps towards him, her gaze fleeting between him and Shaan on his side. He nods at her. With a smile of her own, she approaches him, stopping only a couple of steps away under Shaan’s careful watch.

“H-hi! Hi—You’re… Wow, I did not think this through,” she laughs, face twisted in an awkward grimace that’s incredibly endearing as she twists the edges of her jacket in her hand.

“You’re okay. You’re fine,” Henry reassures her and she beams up at him.

“You too,” she says and cringes a moment later. “That reply made more sense in my head, I swear.”

Henry grins. “No, I understand. I appreciate it. And... thank you. You were… you were outside Kensington today, weren’t you?” She nods, an excited little bob of her head. “Thank you. You- you have _no idea_ how much you helped. Truly.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

She bites her lip through her smile, looking ecstatic at the revelation. He thinks her eyes might be a little wet at the corners too. “So… Uh… if you don’t mind me asking… Are you really…”

Henry frowns, hoping with all he has she won’t ask him if he’s really gay and leave a bitter taste to an otherwise heart-warming interaction. But no. What she says is this:

“Are you really together? With Alex?”

 _Oh_. It strikes him so odd to be asked this so openly. He feels a pinch of fear in his heart that fades fast as his eyes roam over the abundance of rainbow spread around the girl’s grin. The sheer hope in her eyes lifts something from him he didn’t know could be lifted. This is part of what he wants with the shelters. This is what he means to do, what he’ll strive to do from now. Henry chuckles, despite himself, and carries away all his doubts with the sound, leaving his lungs open for a fresh, freeing breath. “Yes. Yes, we are.” The words feel amazing on his lips, effortless despite their magnitude. They settle on a spot next to his heart and he wants to carry them with him forever.

And she laughs too, picking a wayward tear from the corner of her eye before it can ruin her makeup. “That’s—that’s amazing.”

“And you and…?” he asks, nodding towards the girl watching them with a bemused expression from the table.

“Oh!” She twirls around in record time, waving at the other to join them. “Rey! Get your butt here.”

‘Rey’ offers her a smile sweetened with pure fondness but shakes her head, though she gives Henry an encouraging nod.

The girl rolls her eyes. “She can’t fathom the idea that she may not be the most important person in the room at any given moment,” she whispers with a playful wink. “I should let you be. Thanks for, uh, letting me talk to you, I guess? Your Highness,” she adds as an afterthought, giving him a mock-curtsy. Or it could very well be a real attempt at a curtsy.

Henry shakes his head and he’s about to say something when he notices the pins on her jacket. She has a colorful assortment of them, showing her love for a dozen different things. But one, in particular, steals Henry’s attention. A golden heart that’s half a pride flag, half a union jack, matching the ones she has painted on her face.

She sees his focus shift and follows his gaze, her mouth parting in a silent _oh_ when she realizes. “Right, hey.” She pries the pin away from her jacket and holds it up to him. “Do you want it?”

“No, no, it’s quite all right, I was merely—” Henry fumbles to stop her. It’s not as if he cannot afford his own.

“It’s fine! A friend of mine makes them and they’ll be so happy to know you got this.” Her gaze softens in a gentle sympathy that’s void of pity, only understanding. “You probably don’t have any Pride merch, right? Please. Take it.”

Henry gapes at her, a lump in his throat blocking any response.

“Here,” she says, softer now than she has been this entire time. “Can I touch you?” She shoots Shaan a look, who tenses, but Henry nods at her before he can protest. She reaches for the lapel of his jacket and places the small pin, though Henry thinks he hears her say, _‘I hope that wasn’t too expensive.’_ She holds up a finger and removes a second one from her clothes. A matching golden crown with rainbow edges that shifts colors in the light. She places that too next to it. When she’s done, she admires her handiwork for a moment before turning big brown eyes to him, hesitant and a bit bashful if the red tint to her cheeks is any sign. “Was that okay?”

Henry places a hand on her arm, barely brushing against the fabric of her jacket. “Thank you,” he says and she must hear the emotion in his voice because her smile wobbles with some of her own.

“Hang on just a second, okay? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

She rushes over to her partner and whispers something in her ear. Rey frowns at first but ends up relenting anyway. She nods and fumbles with something on her canvas bag. The girl returns a minute later with an offering in hand.

“Here!” she announces, placing it on Henry’s outstretched palm and pushing his fingers closed around it. “For your boyfriend. I know it’s not June or anything, but…” she shrugs. “Happy Pride, Prince Henry.”

He doesn’t even get a chance to say thank you, or see what it is she’s deposited. Rey joins her partner’s side and takes her hand. With matching, wonderful grins his way they wave their goodbyes and head out of the store.

When he and Alex meet again, he’ll see the pins on Henry’s jacket and look at him with so much love and pride and bliss that Henry thinks he'll never manage to put into words. And it’ll be the perfect moment for him to pull a third pin from his pocket, a silver bisexual heart, and attach it to Alex’s own jacket, so they match.

(And if at some point they clank against each other when they kiss… well… Henry has always loved the feeling of Alex’s smile on his lips.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this short piece! (Also volatile times updated yesterday, for anyone who didn't see ;) ) Find me on tumblr @ saltfics for all your screaming needs! Till next time~


	6. 3. "I'm so sorry. I should have been here sooner."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex finds out what happened to Henry and with the help of the one person who was there both times, they might figure out what the hell is going on.
> 
> Prompt of the day: "I'm so sorry. I should have been here sooner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is the (probably) second to last part of this series of interconnected chapters. If you haven't read it already this is deeply connected with chapter 2 and especially chapter 4 of this fic.
> 
> Also I mentioned this in chapter 4 as well but this fic is in the same universe as my fic 'in white' and though you don't need to read that first you should know that Philip has had a bit of a redemption arc, which can explain the somewhat easier relationships portrayed here!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Alex has been living in a bubble of anxiety for weeks now. He just wants things to go back to normal. He thought they might, once Henry was safe and sound at home. So they returned from the hospital, and Henry was promptly attacked by a whimpering David who then refused to leave his side for the next two days, even going so far as to lodge himself between the two of them on the bed at night. And Alex got over absolutely nothing. He can’t even call it an extreme case of separation anxiety, though he’s definitely some sort of blood-pumping, head-reeling, ten-levels-of-paranoid anxious when they’re separated, anyway. But Henry could be standing right there next to him and Alex’s stomach would quickly trampoline up and down his throat. He’ll stay still, trapped in a thought for a moment too long, and Alex’s heart will lurch, beating too fast like he needs blood and adrenaline to catch him.

 _Catch me, catch me, catch me_ , the words keep bouncing against his skull, rapid and sinister like laughter, mocking his inability to protect the one person who matters to him the most.

And the nights are worse. His own nightmares leave him breathless and afraid at all hours of the night. Images where he’s too late, of him failing to catch him in his arms and Henry never stops falling. Words jumbled in delirium and tortured eyes, or worse, a stillness that’s too still, too final. And even so, Henry’s nightmares are somehow more terrifying than his own, because he wakes up _gasping_ and the sound sends frozen terror through his veins, the cold spreading within him so fast Alex is left trembling. He knows Henry feels it as he holds him. 

Even during the peaceful nights when they both manage to sleep through the night, Alex will spend hours just looking at him sound asleep if only to make sure he’s still breathing.

He knows Henry has noticed this. He can read the guilt in the pinched end of his lips, in the way he fights the sad turn of his eyes when Alex’s stress is too obvious. Like any of this is his fucking fault. Like Henry is to blame that some asshole wanted to kill him and went as far as to hurt him in his own fucking home. Who _does_ that? 

That’s the thing. Alex can’t wrap his head around it. What do you gain from—from killing Henry? He’s in _line_ for the throne but he’s not the next king. Which means… which means someone genuinely wished to harm him for him. And the idea of such unwarranted malice against Henry of all people, the kind, caring, youngest prince, brings such pressure around his chest he can’t _breathe._

So when Henry has the audacity to ask him to go back to England, Alex doesn’t know what to do. It’s as if he _wants_ to put himself in danger, give the perpetrator one last shot just for the hell of it. Alex wants to throw a fit at the suggestion. But he can’t. (Okay, he does. He yells a little bit and it doesn’t work, except to make both of them feel horrible). So he tells him to go, because he can’t stand to see how guilty Henry feels every time Alex worries and maybe, _maybe_ spending some time away without disaster befalling him will teach Alex that there’s nothing to worry about anymore. Still, he makes him agree to bi/hourly phone-calls, and Alex has never been this punctual in his life.

It’s on the fifth attempt of the day that something goes wrong. Alex is pretending to work on a paper, decidedly not sneaking glances at the clock like a crush he’s avoiding. And when the hour strikes, he dives for his phone and dials Henry’s number so fast, he’s sure the phone itself is somehow rolling its non-existent eyes at him. 

But it’s not his boyfriend’s patient assurances that greet him at the other end of the line.

_“The number you have called is currently unavailable.”_

He lets out a shocked little laugh, and tries to get his head together, before the paranoia drapes itself over him completely. It should be around early evening in London and he _knows_ Henry has that meeting with Philip but he promised he would excuse himself to answer anytime Alex called. He wouldn’t turn his phone off.

Okay, okay. He’s not going to _lose_ it over this. The entire point of letting Henry go was so he would stop thinking the worst every time Henry so much as _blinked_ wrong. Maybe he ran out of battery. Alex has called him more than five times so far. That eats up a lot of power, right?

Right?

 _“Whatever you want the answer is no,”_ Zahra announces when she picks up the phone but at least she answers on the first ring.

“I want you to call Shaan.”

_“No.”_

“No, wait, I _swear_ this is important!”

 _“And what, pray tell, is so important—and you’d better not make me repeat myself for the third time.”_ Alex tells her and he can _hear_ the exasperated annoyance in her voice when she speaks again. _“You mean to tell me that you want me to call my husband on his personal number when you know for a fact that he’s working because your boyfriend who’s also fucking working has been unreachable for the grand amount of three whole fucking minutes?”_

“… Yes?”

Zahra hangs up on him. Alex calls again.

_“Diaz, I’ll come over there and throttle you—”_

“Zahra, please! I promise I- I won’t call you again, ever… for the next month! That’s a long time! Just please, please do this for me!”

A sigh. _“What’s really going on?”_

Alex runs a hand over his face, taking a moment to let the turmoil in him settle down into words. “I just… I can’t shake this feeling that something is wrong. I know it’s paranoid, I do but… we were nine hours late last time. We were almost too late. Please, I need to…“ He shakes his head even if she can’t see him. David pitter-patters over to his side, whining in concern. Or maybe he’s empathetic to his plight and needs to hear his daddy’s voice on the line.

_“All right. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to wait another couple of hours because he’s probably in that meeting right now and it’s going to be really embarrassing for both of them if we interrupt him like this now. If he doesn’t call you back and you still can’t reach him and you can’t reach his siblings either—or better yet, if you have called the entire fucking palace and not one single person can successfully hand His Royal Highness a phone, then I’ll call Shaan for you. Got it? That’s my best offer.”_

It's not good enough, he wants to say but he swallows it all back down and mutters a thanks that fails to sound grateful. Zahra doesn't have time to care.

He sets a timer on his phone and forces himself to work on the paper as much as he can. It rings before Henry has a chance to call back.

 _The number you have called—_ Alex is going to be sick.

He calls Bea and it goes to voicemail.

He calls Shaan’s work phone and it’s busy.

He even calls Philip which should tell this goddamn prince that it’s fucking urgent and Alex is losing his damn mind. And he doesn’t pick up either, that _fucker_. If he had Martha’s phone number, he would have called her too.

“Please,” he says when Zahra picks up. “I called everyone. Please.”

When she begrudgingly agrees and hangs up to make the call, Alex doesn't expect to get the text he does a whole fifteen minutes later.

_Pack your bags. I booked you a flight to London. You’re leaving in two hours._

Alex looks at the words like he’s forgotten how to read. His hand trembles, then his knees, until he lowers himself down to the couch, trying to breathe through the heat that spreads around his neck. Sweat trickles down his back, clings to his hairline. David climbs up on his lap, balances with his front paws on his shirt to lick his face and Alex gives him the biggest hug they’ve shared, holding on to his soft fur like his life depends on it.

_I have David._

_What happened?_

His fingers shake as he types and autocorrect has to try three times to figure out what he means to say.

_Who the fuck_

_The dog? Ask Nora to take care of him for a few days._

_Call 0044 07955 816933 to talk to Henry. His phone is broken._

He keeps one hand on top of David’s head as he dials, scratching the back of his ears for both their comfort. If he can talk to Henry it can’t be that bad. It means he’s fine. He has to be.

Then why is Zahra flying him to London without even asking him first?

Shaan answers his phone and though he cannot sense any distress in his voice, Alex swears his tone is a bit more curt than usual.

“Shaan? Is Henry there? Can I speak to him?”

The silence stretches too long, stripped of even a breath on the other side, as if Shaan is biting down something bad for Alex not to hear. _“I’m afraid he’s not awake right now.”_

David whines on his lap, nudging his cheek with his nose.

“It’s still early there, Shaan… Isn’t it?”

_“I apologize, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. There’s been an incident.”_

Alex freezes; he can’t process this. The catch in his words. The apology. Incident, not accident. Whatever happened, it wasn’t a fucking mistake. They called the poisoning an incident too.

He’s not awake.

“Is… is he okay?”

_“He will be.”_

“W-what happened? What happened to him?”

 _“Sir…”_ he hesitates and in that three letter word he hears all of his pity. Or is it concern for Shaan knows Alex won’t be able to handle this? He was there when Alex had to deal with a passed-out Henry in his home, witnessed him break down the longer the helplessness choked him out of breath. _“I’m not at liberty—”_

“I need to know. It’s _me_ , Shaan. Please.”

_“I’m truly sorry, Sir. I believe Mrs. Bankston has booked you a flight. Please come. I’m certain you’ll bring His Highness comfort.”_

Alex nods. He presses his face against David’s head, holding the squirming warmth in his arms to steady himself. An impossible smile twitches at his lips at the tickling of the pup’s licks, no matter how much he wants to start crying. “Can he call me when he wakes up?”

_“I will tell him to do so. And I will let you know if anything changes though I’m positive the worst has passed.”_

“Thank you.”

Two hours later he has to turn his phone off for the flight and it’s one of the hardest things he’s had to do. Until he gets to the flight itself. Eight hours with no outside contact, no word from Henry and no knowledge of what actually happened to him, except for the fact that something _did_ , something bad enough that Shaan didn’t want to wake him.

Or _couldn’t_ wake him.

Alex lets his head fall in his hands and spends most of this flight trying to breathe, when every different scenario rans rampant through his mind, entire, long-winded plays of horror, directed by his overactive imagination that won’t let him rest until he’s thought through every tragedy that could have befallen them. _He will be fine. Shaan promised. He’ll be fine. The worst has passed._

But what _was_ it?

By the time he lands he’s jittery and just about ready to start crying, surprised he hasn’t done so this far. There are no missed calls from Shaan, but there is a text that tells him there’s a driver waiting. He can’t swallow past the thought that Shaan clearly refuses to leave Henry’s side if he can’t be bothered to pick Alex up himself.

“Should I take you back to the Palace, Sir?” the driver asks once they’re on the road.

“Take me wherever Henry is.”

The driver pauses for a second, before nodding at him from the rear-view mirror. “Very well, Sir.”

Alex sends a quick text to Nora to make sure everything is okay with David, and to June, who learned about what happened and demanded he called as soon as he knew more. Then he contemplates calling Shaan, his finger hovering over the phone. He turns off the screen. Turns it on again. Throws the phone on the seat next to him. Waits three seconds. Picks it up. By the time he’s ready to say fuck it and just call, the car comes to a halt.

Alex looks out the wrong side of the window so he can’t tell where he is until the driver announces it. “Where…?”

“King Edward VII's Hospital, Sir.”

Alex doesn’t hear the rest of it, if there was anything else to be said. Leaving his luggage in the car for whoever the fuck this guy is to deal with, Alex bolts out of the car and into the building, with the only thought in his mind to get to Henry and a continuous stream of swearing and pleading as the ugliest background music to accompany it.

* * *

Concussions, Henry has decided, are not the most pleasant of injuries. A headache has been building behind his eyes since the moment he’s woken up but at least with his siblings still asleep and unaware of his unfortunate state of consciousness, perhaps he could just slip away again for another few hours and hope for better luck next time. They look peaceful like this after all, on twin chairs next to his bed, Bea’s head on Philip’s shoulder, his brother uncharacteristically disheveled as he leans far too much to the side in his sleep. Seeing Henry awake would send them into another spiral of worry, and he’s hurt them enough already.

He’s about to close his eyes again when the door bursts open, banging against the wall. Philip and Bea startle awake, searching first towards Henry, then the rest of the room, for the source of the sound.

Henry never imagined he would ever not be happy to see Alex, but as he looks at him at the door, his fingers clenched tightly around the handle, his leg shaking with impatience, he feels his stomach twist and turn with dread. Alex says nothing, just stares, his eyes roaming over him, taking in every injury that’s visible and probably imagining all the ones that aren’t. His gaze catches on the oxygen attached to him, and something breaks in his gaze, but he still doesn’t move. There are deep circles under his eyes, and though he must have only run up the distance from the parking lot to his hospital room, Alex looks like he ran all the way from New York.

Bea takes one good look at him and grabs Philip’s sleeve, hauling him to his feet. “Hi, Alex. Pip, let’s step outside for a while. Let’s go get a hot drink, come on.”

Alex takes a step forward to let them pass. The door closes behind them, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

Henry, for all his love of words, has none for him. He tries anyway. “I—”

“Shut up. Please, shut up for a second.” Alex walks over to the edge of the bed and hovers there, uncertain. He walks around him as if Henry’s an art piece to be studied from all angles. Or better yet, a crime scene and he’s trying to piece together a truth that will get it all to make sense. Alex shakes his head, a minuscule yet ceaseless movement, biting hard on his lips as if he’s trying to halt a flood of words he doesn’t want to voice. Tears well up at the corners of his eyes the longer he stares but they won’t spill, waiting on the precipice of sadness for whatever truth he finds to set them free.

Meanwhile, Henry’s head is still killing him and he has to consciously fight not to flinch, for the last thing he needs is to show Alex he’s still in pain. He measures his words, careful not to jumble them up because he knows how Alex will react to any state of Henry that’s not a hundred percent coherent. “Alex. Love, I know this is upsetting, but it’s going to be okay. It was just bad for a little while. I’m fine.”

Henry doesn’t think he’ll ever manage to scrap the memory of his family standing above him, faces contorted in grief. He doesn’t want to add Alex to the list.

Alex tugs at his own curls, trying to wrap his head around this. “Fine? _Fine_? How the hell are you fine, Henry?”

Henry’s face crumbles at the tone, and for some incomprehensible reason, he casts his gaze down in shame. This trip was supposed to alleviate Alex’s worries, not confirm them. And Henry’s own bloody recklessness hurt him again. Why didn’t he just let Shaan come outside with him?

“Baby…” Alex says and grabs a chair on the other side from where his siblings were sitting. Henry reaches out a hand and Alex takes it in his own immediately, placing the other on his cheek, careful not to touch the tube for the oxygen. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Fuck, this is not your fault. I just—” His eyes roam over him, brimming with tears, and Henry’s glad some of the worst bruising is hidden under the hospital gown. “What _happened_?”

He freezes. “Nobody told you?”

“No! Shaan was ‘not at liberty’ to tell me, Zahra never tells me anything anyway and the fucking driver they sent me didn’t even tell me we were going to a hospital until he parked the fucking car.” He lifts their intertwined hands to kiss his bruised knuckles. But he notices then that he’s given him his left hand when the right is closest, and Alex pulls the thin blanket back to reveal the brace. “ _Henry_ ,” he gasps.

“I… The stairs to the music room,” he manages, not without some effort. _Get it together. Don’t make this worse._ His head is killing him.

“You slipped?” Alex says, frowning.

And he’s not sure what does it. It could be the fact that he’s too tired and distracted from trying so hard not to make it known that he’d beg for some painkillers right now. It could be that Shaan hasn’t been in his room once when Henry was awake. Or how Alex is hurting and he thinks that maybe, _maybe_ he can prevent it from getting even worse. The heartbroken expressions of his family still linger at the forefront of his mind, the shock in their gazes when Shaan asked him how he fell. He’s exhausted and scared and in pain and the only thing that manages to slip through his clenched teeth is just… “Yes.”

“Henry—”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know I should have been more careful,” he says and that’s not a lie. He should have been more careful. He should have seen it coming. He shouldn’t have been alone. “I—”

Alex presses a kiss to his lips, gentle and careful. “Shush. Fuck, I thought—” He shakes his head and Henry can see the way the tension leaves his shoulders, his entire body unwinding. 

Henry’s stomach turns with guilt. The knowledge of his lie stays at the back of his throat, hurting him every time he tries to speak.

“I’m sorry, love. You shouldn’t have to come over here just because I wasn’t—”

“Nonsense. I should have been here sooner. I should have come with you from the beginning.”

Henry slowly uses his sprained hand to grab the front of Alex’s shirt and pull him closer. His head hurts too much to respond, so he just rests against Alex’s chest, taking in the familiar scent of him. A soft hum leaves his lips when Alex places a hand on his head to play with his hair, careful around his bandage.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

“Headache…” he sighs.

“Should I call the nurse?” he asks, and Henry is pleased at the light tone he uses.

“Please.”

Alex plants a breath of a kiss on the crown of his hair. “I got you.”

* * *

Alex is dragged to Kensington Palace by Bea, two hours after Henry falls back asleep from the painkillers. His own exhaustion was starting to hit him hard and she took pity on him, coming along only to make sure he would actually get where he was supposed to go. He wants to be offended at that, except she’s not exactly wrong. Philip, who went home to be with his other family while Alex was there, switches with them. For some reason it seems the siblings refuse to leave their youngest alone and based on his own experience with a hurt Henry, Alex doesn’t want to know what sight sparked this over-protectiveness.

Kensington is obnoxiously large as always, so it’s hard to be sneaky with Bea about what he wants to do. When she notices Alex is trying to take a different path, she gives him a knowing look but lets him. At least until he gets lost.

“Alex, where exactly are you trying to go?”

He gives her a sheepish smile. Though with the thought of where he needs to be, it’s hard for it to be too bright. “I want to see the music room.”

She raises a brow. “The music room?”

“Bea…” he says, letting the meaning hang between them.

She purses her lips, but nods and leads him to where he wants to go.

Bea pushes open the door to the building where the music room is with enough apprehension to think they’re entering a haunted house. Warm, fiery light floods the room from outside, pointing out the dust bunnies in the air, casting shadows over furnishing that still aren’t deep enough to capture all their ghosts. She steps aside for Alex to walk in and he manages to catch the way her expression breaks in muted horror when she realizes her mistake. “Bloody hell… they could have at least cleaned it.”

Alex turns to follow her gaze and there, at the bottom of the staircase, he finds what’s haunting her expression.

She calls his name as he walks towards it, but doesn’t move to stop him as he lowers himself to take a better look.

There’s a large stain at the edge of a step, a dried crimson that clashes against the polished wood, the only sign of the events that transpired there. The white banister is as pristine as ever and the portraits of the wall are in place, looking down at them with judging looks. But the stain is stark and ominous and it drips down the side of the step, leaving dried lines that never actually reach the next one.

They both stare it, enraptured by the grim memento of the day. Alex tries to joke, lighten the mood, yet it comes out strangled. “No wonder his head hurt like a bitch.” He tries, with increasing desperation, to remind himself that Henry will be fine.

Bea shakes her head. “Someone picked up his phone from where it had fallen and brought it to Philip, but no one could have bothered to make sure _this_ wasn’t here when we returned?”

Alex pushes himself to his feet, forcing his gaze back to her. “Were you… did you see what happened?”

“No one saw what happened. That’s the problem. We don’t know where to look.”

A bad feeling settles in his stomach before his mind catches up with what Bea said. “What do you mean?” Alex asks, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“To find who did this,” Bea explains, her eyes narrowing as she adopts a faraway look, lost in a memory that only makes her angrier. “This may not have been the warmest of places to grow up in. But we did anyway. How _dare_ they make this place unsafe for us?”

Alex places a hand on the banister to hold himself up as realization crashes on him like a wave, flooding his thoughts, sweeping the world from under him. “What-what makes you think someone hurt him?”

When she refocuses on him, she has the most confused look on her face. “I asked him if he fell. He said someone pushed him.”

His legs finally give out and he slips down to the floor, stopping only at the last second with a panicked yelp as he realizes what he almost touched. He scrambles over to the other end of the step, the clean part, yet he’s too aware of the fact that Henry once lied on those steps. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Alex!” Bea gasps, rushing towards him. She sits on her knees in front of him, placing one hand on his shoulder and one on his chin to lift his face towards her. “What’s the matter?”

“He-he told me…” Alex’s own hands fly to his mouth, trying to muffle whatever sound of pain threatens to escape his throat. He doesn’t manage to stop the words from rushing out, cracking with hurt, heavy with horror, not for Henry’s act but for the reason behind it. “He _lied_ to me.”

“What?”

“He told me he slipped,” he admits in a whisper, turning wide eyes up to her, hoping that maybe she’ll tell him she was wrong and Henry’s version of the truth is the right one.

“Oh, Alex.” Bea pulls him into a hug, cradling his head into her chest. He wonders how many times she’s done this for her brother. “He didn’t want you to worry.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“You need to rest. You both do. You can talk to him later. When you’re less angry too. He should have told you, but Alex…” Bea sighs, pushing back to look at him in the eye. “This is hard for us, but think how stressed Henry must be. He’s trying to comfort everyone. As if he’s not the one who’s almost died twice now. Tell him he was wrong because he was, but please be gentle with him.”

Alex remembers a semi-conscious Henry on the floor of their home, asking Alex if he was okay, worried about David’s whining in the other room. His heart lurches in his chest, hurt and worried but mostly full of love. “Of course.”

* * *

The next time he visits the hospital, despite his discussion with Bea, he’s still a little prickly about it. He almost picks a fight with the security guy outside Henry’s room, a different one from last time. With Shaan still trying to make sense of what happened, Henry has switched to rotation, apparently.

When he walks in the room, he finds Henry asleep, his face for once smoothened of all creases, his breathing steady and deep. The rise and fall of his chest makes for a beautiful sight if he ignores the cannula still helping him do it, and as he watches him for a moment, his anger softens at its edges before he relaxes completely.

Philip is sitting with his back way too straight on a plastic chair next to him, working on something on his phone, though he looks like he’d rather be doing anything but that. He’s so absorbed he doesn’t look up at his arrival until Alex rolls his eyes and speaks first.

“You can go now,” Alex says. “I’ll stay here for a while.”

Philip goes even more rigid, and somehow that’s possible without his spine snapping from the tension. “All right. I’ll leave you two alone.”

“You’ve been… here a lot.” Alex can’t believe he’s about to do this. “Not that you shouldn’t, but… uh, are you okay?”

He pauses, halfway out the door, and shoots Alex a strange look like he, too, can’t believe they’re trying to have this discussion. “Yes, well, if your youngest sibling almost… if he gets hurt on your watch twice in a row, you will be there as much as you can too.” He leaves before he can say anything else, with a sour expression on his face as if he regretted saying even that much.

Alex lets out a long breath. That’s… something for Henry to unpack at some point.

He takes Henry’s uninjured hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. The repetitive movement takes advantage of his jet lag, lulling him to sleep. He rests his head on the mattress at Henry’s side and closes his eyes only for a second.

By the time he wakes up again, Henry is awake, his sprained hand between Alex’s curls, as he works through a tray of food that has been brought at some point with the other. How did he sleep through _that?_

“You really shouldn’t be straining your hurt hand,” Alex grumbles, removing it from his head to return it to his side, not without pressing a kiss to the inside of the palm first.

Henry smiles. “It was for a worthy cause.” The expression falters, however, as he stares at him. Whatever face Alex is making, it tells Henry all he needs to know. “Alex, I—”

“Next time you want to lie to me, make sure your sister is in on the trick.” He doesn’t want to be so sharp, so he tries again. “Just tell me why.”

“I… I wanted to spare you.”

“Spare me?”

“Yes, Alex, spare you,” Henry snaps, then flinches at his own tone. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” he exhales deeply, thinking through his words. “Do you know how many times I’ve fallen down those bloody stairs? Literally and metaphorically.”

“Hen, that does _not_ make me feel better—”

“Let me finish.” He attempts at a smile that comes out shaky, whatever he intends to say eating too much at him to let it be. “Certainly, I’ve never broken a rib before—”

“You _broke_ a rib?”

“Let me _finish_ ,” he repeats, though he can see the panic in his eyes once Henry realizes his mistake. “It wasn’t the extent of the injury that made this worse for me, Alex. It’s the fact that for all the times I’ve fallen, this is the first time I’ve dragged everyone else down with me.” 

Henry pauses, biting hard on his lower lip as he turns his gaze to his lap. He pushes the tray away, and Alex wishes he started this conversation after he finished eating. 

“The way they looked at me. I can’t forget it. Martha was screaming over my head. Shaan looked _so_ guilty. And Bea—Did you know Philip _snapped_ at her so she wouldn’t come inside and see? And she came in anyway and they both looked—they—I was so careless and I hurt them so much. And I hurt you too, then, with the-the poison. I can’t take it anymore.” He buries his head in his left hand and refuses to let Alex see his face no matter how much he tries to tug it away. “I’m tired and I’m… _scared_ , Alex. It was terrible of me not to tell you the truth, I know, but I didn’t want to add _another_ image of you hurt to haunt me. I wanted you to reprimand me for being clumsy instead of being horrified and on edge like everyone else here and I am _so sorry_.”

Alex gets up and pulls him into a hug, mindful not to hold him too tightly now that he knows about the whole broken rib business that no one decided was important enough to tell him. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby, it’s going to be okay. I got you. We’re going to be fine,” he keeps repeating, hoping they’ll both believe it. “They’ll find them and it’ll be over soon, okay?” He feels Henry nod against his chest. “But you need to tell me those things. Let me put this in terms you’ll understand: if you don’t care about your personal safety, consider that this person might have it out for me too. I need to know these things.”

Henry goes rigid in his arms and he feels like a dick for reframing it like this but if Henry won’t watch out for himself then he needs to keep him careful somehow.

“I love you. And I’m here for the bad stuff too, no matter how horrible they might be. We’ll do this together. So please, please don’t hide things from me, especially when they have to do with your safety.”

“I love you. Never again, I promise.”

“Let’s hope we’ll never have to.”

* * *

A nurse comes in for some tests and kicks Alex out in spite of his numerous protests and arguments. He doesn’t like what that says about his career as a lawyer.

He takes a seat on the first chair he finds outside the room and rests his face in his hands, elbows pressing on his knees. The worry is still heavy, curling around his limbs along with his exhaustion. Henry’s words are swimming around his head, the taste of his tears still fresh on his lips where he’d kissed them away. But it’s the helplessness that breaks him. He doesn’t know how to protect him. He’s failed twice to keep him safe.

From the corner of his vision, he notices someone sit down next to him but he doesn’t turn until the person clears his throat. He takes a peek and fights back a groan. Seriously? Now?

“Hey, man,” Alex greets, falling back on the chair. “I thought you left.”

Philip is not spread over his seat quite in the same way as Alex, but he’s more curled in than before, his own fatigue showing in the heavy downturn of his shoulders. “I got... distracted. I’ll go after I speak to Henry first.”

Alex doesn’t _really_ care but he, too, could use a distraction. “What’s up? What sidetracked you?”

Philip scowls. “My mother, she… she does not travel much anymore since my father died, avoids it as much as she can. And regrettably, the one time she leaves the country…”

“Her youngest son ends up in the hospital?”

“The fact that it was our grandmother that called her with the news and delivered them with a certain… unfortunate judgment, if you will, as if it was somehow Henry’s own bloody fault, didn’t help quite as much as she might have thought.”

Alex feels his blood grow hotter in his veins and has to breathe for a few seconds before he can reply. “What has to go wrong with you to worship that person? Honestly?”

Philip huffs but doesn’t protest the accusation.

“What did your mom say?”

“She’s panicking for the most part. Trying to get the first flight here. It’s not…” He considers his words, and whatever it is he meant to say, he lets it slide. “I should call Srivastava. See if there’s been any progress with the investigation.”

The mention of the investigation sends a jolt of pain from his heart through his limbs. And he says something stupid because he can and he’s too desperate to care. “I gotta ask… it’s not you, right?”

Philip is halfway up from his chair when his head snaps back to Alex, the most offended look on his face. He’s never seen him this angry, and he’s seen Philip with some hideous faces. “ _Excuse me_?”

“Fuck, I didn’t mean that. I just—Look, you’re the only one who was _there_ both times, okay? I don’t know what else to think! I’m losing my mind here. Who else was there both times? Staff members?”

Philip turns away from him, the furious expression still on his face. He starts pacing, a hand rubbing at his chin like some fucking movie character that’s thinking too hard. “There weren’t supposed to be any staff members in that building at the time.”

“So it was just you in both cases?”

“Well, and the guards, but yes.”

Alex pauses. Something like stress builds up in his chest, all sharp edges and about to _snap_. “The guards?”

“Yes. Srivastava and two of my own guards.”

Alex watches Philip closely as he speaks, so he sees the precise moment his next question sinks in. “... Why two?”

He stops mid-step, turning to Alex. “Owens insisted he joins us.” He thinks for a second, then scoffs. “No. He is an honored ex-military with great respect for the Crown and its values.”

It gives him an answer to the question he’s been asking since Shaan first uttered the word ‘poison’ and it’s so vile he wants to throw up. “Its values? Your values? The ones you’ve consistently insisted Henry is betraying?”

The color washes from Philip’s face; he looks as sick as Alex feels. “No… No, he wouldn’t… I trust that man with my life, Alexander.”

“Oh, yeah? Do you trust him with _Henry’s_?”

Philip’s expression breaks for a split second then hardens, and it’s odd to see that anger on their side for once. “I’ll call Srivastava. Go find Henry. Do not let him out of your sight. He won’t know not to trust him. Go. Go _now_.”

Alex would be more upset at being ordered around by Prince fucking Philip if he weren’t so anxious to get where he needs to be. He rushes to Henry’s room, slams the door open, even if it might frighten a few nurses.

“Hen—” The name dies on his lips, stolen along with his breath.

Alex stares, uncomprehending at the scene before him, at the empty bed left undone, at the room that’s deserted. He doesn’t have words. Or thoughts. He can barely keep breathing as if whatever took Henry stole the core of what made Alex work, and without it, without him, he’s left here to unravel.

Philip joins him a few moments later and Alex doesn’t turn to see the terror in his eyes, the one he masks as anger when he demands to be told what the hell happened.

“I’m so sorry…” Alex whispers, detached from the words as though someone else is speaking for him. He doesn’t think he’s talking to Philip, not really. “I should have been here sooner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... in hindsight, I should have mentioned that this is the only chapter of this fic that does not, in fact, stand on its own.
> 
> Welp. This was a long one (6k+ woot) so please please let me know what you thought! Hope it was worth it!
> 
> As always, find me @ saltfics on tumblr for all your screaming needs (I keep saying that, but this time someone might actually do it, huh?) Hah, till next time~


	7. "Put your arm around me--"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry is used to taking care of himself when he's sick. But even though Alex is away, there might be someone else around that could lend a helping hand.
> 
> Prompt: "Put your arm around me-- Or just fall on me that works too." and "You passed out at the pharmacy"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interconnected chapters update every second chapter, so here's a cute little thing in the meantime!
> 
> I honestly I apologize for the characterizations in this one.
> 
> (Also the chapter referenced in the beginning is chapter 3!)

When Alex got sick and Henry was upset, he kissed him on the lips like he was the most precious thing in the world, and Henry claimed then, fully believing it, that it was worth it to catch his germs for the comfort that they shared. Now, not two weeks later, Henry tries so hard to hold on to that sentiment as he drags his feet out of the house to the nearest pharmacy, certain he’s about to pass out on a dirty pavement in New York. At least if he makes the tabloids, this cold will murder him before his brother does.

He probably could have called someone to go do this for him but Shaan has taken some of his vacation days, and he can’t risk calling someone from Alex’s security team because he doesn’t want any of this getting back to Alex. When he left for an out of town convention two days before, neither of them suspected Henry would get sick and he knows that if he tells him now, he’ll drop everything and return home. As tempting as that sounds, Henry doesn’t want to do that to him.

A bell chimes as he pushes the pharmacy door open. The sound keeps ringing inside his head. 

He tugs the lapels of his thick coat higher, closer towards him, hoping to bury himself in the fabric. He can’t stop shivering. Why did he have to leave the house, again?

He grabs a box of fever medicine, some decongestants and two packs of tissues just to be on the safe side. The world is tilting around him as he waits in line to pay, and he blinks slowly, resisting the urge to hold on to something. 

This was a truly terrible idea.

“Henry? Is that you?”

At first, he’s convinced he’s hallucinating. There’s no chance this voice belongs to who he thinks it does, so the most sensible argument is that his fever is much higher than he expected it to be. He doesn’t reply; he refuses to grant his own delusions a response. But they call his name again, closer, and he turns towards the sound to find a very realistic mirage.

“It _is_ you. Are you all right, _mijo_? You look pale. Paler than usual, anyway,” Oscar says, placing a much-needed hand on his arm to steady him. “Henry?”

“Are you really here?” Henry asks instead, coughing when the words scratch against his throat. “I-I mean, what are you doing here?”

Oscar is studying him, eyes narrowed as he takes in his appearance. 

Henry wonders if he did something wrong. Is he mad? He doesn’t look happy with him. 

“I had some business in the city. I called Alex but he said he’s out of town and you were going to be working this afternoon.”

“Oh. I called in sick,” he explains, his mind catching only the accusation. He really wants to sit down. “I don’t- I don’t feel too well.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Do you mind if I-?” Oscar reaches towards him, a question in his gaze. Henry is not sure what he’s asking but he would never say no to Alex’s dad, he’s always so nice to him, so he nods anyway. He doesn’t even flinch when Oscar places the back of his palm to his forehead, just leans his head forward towards the chilly touch. “Okay, yeah, kid, you’re really sick. What are you even doing out of the house?”

“Medicine,” he mumbles, letting his eyes flutter shut.

The hand is suddenly removed but Henry’s inner ear is too slow to get the memo. He keeps leaning and trips over his own feet trying to regain his balance. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Oscar exclaims, grabbing him by his shoulders. “Okay. Why don’t I take you home?” He slips the little shopping basket Henry’s holding into the crook of his elbow and tries to reposition him. “I don’t think you can walk like this.”

He might be right. Henry could have sworn the big blotch in the middle of his vision wasn’t there before. It burns his head, building on the pain there but he can’t blink it away. Nausea swirls in his stomach.

“Let’s try this: Put your arm around—” 

When Henry finally passes out, at least it’s not on a pavement. And as he settles against something soft and warm, he thinks he hears one last thing before he lets his world be swallowed into black. 

“Or just fall on me, that works too.”

The sharp, fresh scent of peppermint manages to slip through his congested nose. His eyelids weigh too much to lift them and he moans, the pressure in his head now a constant throb that spikes with every tiny movement.

“Glad to hear you alive,” comes Oscar’s booming voice from somewhere in the house. Henry’s face scrunches up in pain. As much as he loves the man, his voice is far too loud; it bounces against the walls and it _hurts_. “You’re probably miserable right now but if you get up you can have some medicine.”

Henry wallows in his misery for another too-short moment, before reality finally connects with his addled mind.

He sits up too fast and he has to slap a hand in front of his mouth as the world spins, breathing heavily through his nose for the dizziness to pass. Black spots dance around his vision for a terrible second.

“Easy, _easy_ there. Don’t want you getting sick.” Oscar is there, a hand on his shoulders with a tight grip. “Breathe.”

“Why are you…” Henry starts to ask when he can remove his hand again. He’s at the living room in his house, lying on the couch with Alex’s favourite blanket thrown on him. The scent of peppermint he noticed was coming from a mug of steaming hot tea placed on the nearby coffee table. A familiar paper bag has been left next to it, the big green cross slamming open the doors to his mind for the memory of the pharmacy to march right in. 

He’s going to be sick for a whole different reason this time.

“You passed out at the pharmacy. Well, ‘passed out’ might not be the most accurate term, but you were definitely out of it. I brought you back here. You’re gonna have to forgive me for not carrying you all the way up the stairs to the bedroom though.”

Henry buries his head in his hands, feeling hot shame burn through him faster than the fever. “I-I didn’t mean to—Didn’t you say you had business to attend to? I’m _so_ sorry.”

“Hey, come on now. None of that. You can’t help getting sick and you’ve been left here alone. If you’re gonna be sorry for something, be sorry that you were dumb enough to leave the house like this, and only until you get it in your head that you should not repeat that. Understood?”

Henry dares to look up and falters under the fond reprimanding he sees. He remembers when… He swallows hard, feeling every part of the motion on his sore throat. “Right.”

Oscars smiles at him with a reassuring nod and takes the mug from the table to push it in his hands. “Drink up, it’s good for your cough. After you get something to eat, you can get your medicine and you’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Oscar heads back to the kitchen as Henry stares after him, lost. “Wait.” He curls his fingers tighter around the mug and it burns him a bit, enough to keep him focused. “You don’t have to do this. Or stay here.” He has his eyes down while he talks, watching a thinning sliver of steam travel upwards. “I’ll be fine, you should go.”

“Henry.” Oscar’s voice is stern and it grabs his attention like a hook. “I don’t know why you think I wouldn’t want to make sure you’re taken care of, but there’s no chance in hell I’m leaving you alone, kid. So the way I see it you have two options here: I can stay with you until Alex is back, or I leave but we call someone else to take my place. Nora?” He places a hand on the back of his neck, massaging the knots there. “Now, I’ll understand if you’re not comfortable with me, but—”

“No, no, that’s not—I didn’t mean to imply anything like that,” Henry tries to assure him. “I really appreciate this. I just wouldn’t want to keep you from anything important.”

Oscar sighs and makes his way back to Henry. He sits on the end of the couch by his feet and puts his hand on Henry’s knee, squeezing once for comfort. “I don’t know what you’re used to, but in the Diaz household, we take care of each other when one of us is sick. And whether you like it or not, you’re part of the family now, _mijo_. So we’re taking care of you.” He pats his knee twice as he gets back to his feet. “You’re important, too.”

Henry looks down at his mug again so he can safely blink away the moisture in his eyes, but he’s smiling, so he hopes Oscar will notice that instead. “Thank you.”

He sips on the tea, letting the odd sensation of cool warmth, so telltale of the flavour, soothe the harshness of his throat. He’s a little too fast and the heat gets stuck on his chest for a few seconds but he still enjoys the comforting warmth it brings him.

Oscar is still in the kitchen when he’s done, whistling an unfamiliar song. Unwilling to wait and just uncomfortable enough not to want to be seen lying down like a child any longer, much less eat like this, Henry tries to get up and join him. He sways on his feet, the sudden change in altitude making his brain bob as if floating on water. He waits for the dizziness to pass and by the time he opens his eyes again, Oscar is at the kitchen door, shaking his head at him.

“You’re really stubborn, aren’t you? No wonder Alex likes you.”

Henry attempts a wobbly smile, hoping he can pass the red tint to his cheeks as a side-effect of the fever. “Would you mind if I joined you in the kitchen instead?”

“It’s your house,” Oscar shrugs. “But you’d better drag that blanket with you.”

Five minutes later, they’re both settled on the kitchen table, though Henry has a too large blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He must look ridiculous. Like that one ill-advised, badly wrapped burrito Henry tried to make for Alex once. (Alex smiled and he peppered kisses on his cheeks, full of fondness, then took a second, better look at it and proceeded to laugh for five more minutes.)

Oscar has placed a bowl of soup in front of each, little stars swimming in a reddish broth. _Sopa de estrellitas_ , he said. _A Diaz family guarantee for sick days_. It looks warm and homemade, the kind of cure that’s eighty-percent love.

Henry takes a spoonful into his mouth. And he’s right. The taste is richer than he expected, as is most of the food Alex’s family makes. 

He’s spent many sick days in the palace, an entire childhood’s worth. He’s had professional chefs make him his heart’s desires to make him feel better. 

This feels different in a monumental way he struggles to fit into his heart.

Henry’s expression crumbles for only a second, but Oscar must catch it because he frowns. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it? We can get you something else, but you need to eat something.”

“No, that’s not it,” Henry chokes out, surprised at the emotion that blocks his throat like this. “It’s delicious, thank you so much. Truly.”

“That’s not the face of someone who likes the food. What’s wrong?”

He laughs, a short, breathless sound, that comes out even more ridiculous with his clogged nose. “It’s quite silly, to be honest. I… We didn’t really… When we got sick as kids, it was never… I don’t know how to explain it… Like _this_.” 

He’s lying. He knows well how to explain it. But he can’t say it in front of Alex’s dad.

He can’t tell him that his mum tried her best, but she, too, was raised on faceless food and detached love. He can’t tell him that when they feared he was contagious no one was allowed in with him, or that the one time Bea snuck in because he was just too miserable to be left alone in his vast room with a raging headache and an upset stomach, she got sick two days after he recovered and she spent it all alone, guarded twice as hard against visitors. He can’t admit how guilty he felt to be the cause of it. 

Most of all, he can’t find the words to voice that homemade food against illness reminds him of his father, who would break all the rules to be by his side, who saw the way he scrunched his nose against what they brought him that one time and decided to make him something easy to go down himself and Henry loved it so much they made a tradition out of it. 

Being taken care of like this reminds him of his dad’s affectionate smile, the cool feel of his hand against his forehead, his fingers stroking his hair. 

When Alex does it, it’s different. It’s a separate, other kind of love and it opens up space for new memories, without ever pushing aside the ones he already has. But Oscar calls him _mijo_ and treats him like a son, like family, and it’s recognizable in ways both right and wrong. It’s a feeling soft and warm and bright but it strikes too harsh in the wrong angle, hurting him if he gets too close.

He swallows down the words, shaking his head. “This is so kind of you, Oscar. Thank you.”

Oscar’s brows are furrowed. Whatever his first thought is, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he claps him on the shoulder, letting his hand stay there as if to ground him. “You should be comforted when you’re sick, Henry. That’s just how it is. And if you didn’t have it then, you’ll have it now.”

He nods, shifting his attention back to his food, hoping he can distract himself from his own train of thought. The truth of all he meant to say stays on the tip of his tongue, wishing to be freed, but there’s a reassuring ease to the way Oscar acts around him now, and Henry is scared he’ll alienate him if he does. 

So he lets dinner pass by in silence. Oscar gathers the dishes in the sink and hands him a glass of water and two pills. 

Henry curls deeper into himself, all the shame and uncertainty at being babied returning in full force at the gesture.

He jolts when he hears Oscar sigh, the sound too heavy to be accidental. When he sits down next to him again, there’s a serious look on his face. Henry feels like he’s about to get scolded. 

“I need you to level with me,” he says, and Henry nods, frowning. “Are you uncomfortable with me here? We can call someone else. I _promise_ you, it’s fine.”

Heat spreads around his collar and Henry lowers the blanket down to his elbows. “It’s a little odd,” he admits, one corner of his lips curling into a weak smile. “We’ve never actually spent any time alone, have we?” Oscar smiles back at him, easing some of the pressure that’s wrapped around his chest. “But it’s not you, it’s me. I apologize if I made you think I don’t appreciate your company.”

“Oh, I’m sure you appreciate it, I’m just not sure you want it.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose, clenching his fingers in the fabric of the blanket. He holds on to the comfort he’s been given and tries to convince himself that Oscar will not judge him for this, he’ll understand. From the first time he met him back at the lake house, he’s been nothing but nice and welcoming and vaguely reminiscent of home, and though the familiarity can rub against wounds left open for years, it can soothe some of the pain in them all the same. “It’s hard for me sometimes. To… be around you,” he confesses, daring a peek at his face. There’s no verdict yet, only patience that gives Henry the next bit of courage to continue. “Especially days like these. My dad—he was the only one who would do things like that. Try to cook—though he was as bad as I am now—or make sure I never felt alone. We weren’t unsupervised when we were sick, but most of the time we were so hopelessly lonely. He always tried to fix that. If you couldn’t remedy the cold, he’d make sure we never dreaded it. And it’s the first time since… that I…”

“Henry…”

“… it’s familiar. And not, at the same time. I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me as I try to understand how I’m meant to feel about it.”

Oscar watches him for a second, nodding, full of thought that Henry can’t decipher. He opens his mouth to say something, but he lets it drop at the last second. In its place, he opens his arms for him and though Henry freezes on instinct, he soon leans into it. Oscar wraps him into a hug and pulls him closer, chuckling slightly at the entire fluffy blanket he has to take along with him. 

“You’re good, kid. You’re good.” His arms are a steady weight on his shoulders, something to lean on for support. He’s hugged him before, of course, but never with so much intent behind it, never meant to comfort. 

It’s… nice, Henry thinks. It’s grounding. 

“Thank you for telling me.”

After Henry pulls away, Oscar gets up and hauls him to his feet. “Come on, then. That medicine is going to get you drowsy real soon and you should probably get to your bed, or I might have to carry you there after all.”

Henry raises a hand to gesture him to stop. “It’s fine. I got it.” He chuckles then coughs around it when Oscar shoots him a doubtful look. “It’s the truth this time. Thank you. For, you know, everything today.” 

Halfway up the stairs, he hears him call to him: “I’m still going to be here if you need anything.”

Henry doesn’t reply, not out loud, but he smiles, a small, secret thing he can’t admit to himself yet. As he buries himself under the covers, he thinks the Diaz family might not be wrong about the recipe, though maybe, just maybe, it’s not the food itself that does the trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . Eh. So I hope you enjoyed this at least a tiny bit. Please let me know what you thought, and I'll see you next time with the next of the poison/stairs fic.
> 
> Friendly reminder that volatile times also updated recently ;) Till next time~


	8. 4. "I don't want to die."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Four of the Assassination Plot Chapters (aka the stairs fic)
> 
> Prompt of the day: “I-I don’t want to die.” “I’m okay, it doesn’t hurt anymore.” “Shh, stay calm, we’re going to get you some help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the prompts I had to work with, can you really blame me for this one? Things to note:
> 
> 1\. If you're new here and decided to start with this chapter for some reason, please check out chapters 2,4 and 6 because this does not make sense without them.
> 
> 2\. This is not, in fact, the last chapter of the series after all.
> 
> 3\. _Content Warning_ I think it was made clear when Owens was revealed last chapter but mentions of homophobia will be prevalent in this chapter. Please be mindful of your mental health when you read.
> 
> Hope you like it!

Much later, with hindsight on his side, he’ll agree with Alex once and for all. Henry has no concept of the danger he’s in. For a person who’s been told for years that people might try to hurt him and after two different attempts at his life, Henry still doesn’t act like he understands the idea. In his defense, however, he’s also been taught that there are some people in the palace that are meant to guard them with their lives. So why would he challenge that?

There’s a commotion outside his hospital room. Quick, rapid-fire questions and answers that he can’t hear, but the tone is unmistakable even in the muted murmurs that reach him. The doctor left his room five minutes ago and although he thought he would enjoy the peace for a while until his next babysitter came to feel guilty at his bedside, Henry suddenly wishes he wasn’t alone.

He pushes himself into a sitting position, wincing at the way it hurts his side.

The door is pushed open not too long after, and closed in quick succession, after one of Philip’s security people, Emory Owens, makes his way inside. He takes a set of Henry’s clothes that’s been left on a nearby chair in case it’s needed and tosses it at his feet. “Sir, we need to go,” he says with a clipped urgency. “You’re in danger, we have to get out of the hospital now.”

“Where’s Shaan?” asks Henry, trying to slip out of bed with extreme difficulty. Emory watches him struggle for a moment before he comes to his side and places one hand on his arm and one on his back to support him as Henry attempts to stand.

“Srivastava is following the lead. Prince Philip ordered that I get you to a safe location in his stead. He has Andrews with him.” Once they’re sure Henry can stand on his own, he lets go, shifting his gaze between him and the clothes. “Do you need…?”

“I can do it,” he lies, and fights back any sounds of pain as he tries so hard to get dressed. He has to sit back down to put on his trousers and by the time he’s done, he’s out of energy to do the rest. Instead, he steels his expression, clenches his teeth and lets Emory help him slip his arms through the sleeves and fix just enough buttons to be presentable.

“What about Alex?” Henry asks as Emory wraps an arm around his waist, careful not to aggravate his hurt rib. “He was here—is he safe?” Something heavy moves in his front pocket as he walks but he can’t bother to reach for it now.

They’re touching too much for Henry not to feel the way he goes rigid for a moment. He stops walking, then stumbles forward when Emory doesn’t halt along with him. “Mr. Owens?” he forces out, trying to swallow back the panic and the heart that’s climbed up to his throat.

“He’s been moved to another location already.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course, Sir.” His voice is odd and monotone and it makes Henry want to detach himself from him, but he doesn’t want to cause any more trouble for the guards, Shaan most of all, as much as he wants to wait for him to return. When in danger, he’s supposed to listen. He just wishes, once again, that he wasn’t here alone.

They take the back exit of the hospital where a nondescript black car is parked, waiting for them. Emory helps Henry ease into the back seat and closes the door shut with what he absurdly thinks is too much force. The  _ thud _ echoes too loud and it lingers in the stale air of the car, like a finality he can’t grasp. It makes his stomach clench.

Emory gets to the driver’s seat and pulls the car into the road.

Henry jolts when he hears a click.

The safeties are locked. And that’s the first concrete sign that something is wrong. If they’re in danger, shouldn’t he be able to make a quick run for it if something goes wrong?

“Where are we going?” Henry asks, keeping the fear out of his voice, even as it curls too tightly around his gut.

Emory meets his gaze from the rear-view mirror, studying his expression. “Safehouse.”

“Where exactly?”

“Somewhere outside West London. I’m awaiting instructions.” There’s not a chance that’s true.

He won’t panic. He refuses to panic. Not only will it give away that he realized already, but he’s not going to let Owens have the bloody satisfaction of knowing he’s scared. He can’t wrap his mind around why Philip’s guard is the one trying to kill him, but as he thinks back to the last two times he’s been in life-threatening danger, the pattern becomes clear. Owens was there during the dinner. During the meeting two days ago, he was there when they sat down. When Henry left the room, he was already  _ absent. _

His fingers brush against the object in his pocket, feeling its shape, judging its weight, so he’s certain what’s hidden in there. 

Henry lets his breaths go heavy, which isn’t hard; he never realized how much he relied on the extra oxygen until he had to rush out of the hospital without it. “Do you mind if I lie down while we drive? I don’t feel too well.”

“Of course, Your Highness. Anything you need.” If he survives this, he will find a way to punch this man in the face.

Henry lowers himself down, grunting as it pushes against every injury he has. His sprained arm screams at him, and the act of moving around in the car brings a wave of dizziness to his already aching head. But it’s nothing compared to what happens when he lies down, perfectly flat on his back when his lungs have still not recovered. A heavy weight crushes down on his chest, stopping his breaths short, and he pants, almost giving in to the panic that he  _ can’t breathe. _

Just for a moment. He needs to keep this up for a moment longer. Then he’ll sit up. It’s going to be okay. He needs the strength to do this because he promised Alex he’ll be fine. He promised him and he needs to  _ do _ this, and he needs to let them help because he cannot do this alone.

As he’s not in Owens’ line of sight anymore, he fishes in his pocket for the familiar weight and finds a cell phone with a small yellow post it on attached to the screen.  _ You should not be without a phone right now. Please use mine until you can get yours replaced. -S.S. _

Henry swallows hard at Shaan’s familiar cursive, trying to get past the lump in his throat. Tears spring into his eyes when he turns it on. 

It’s Shaan’s personal device. 

There’s a picture of him and Zahra on the screen, newly-wed and in love and Henry just wants to be home. He wants Shaan by his side, a hand on his shoulder or his back, a subtle gesture that has held him upright in more cases than he can count, through grief and pain so heavy it should have brought him to his knees. He wants Alex’s arms around him, tender and loving and  _ safe,  _ away from all of this.

He grabs on to that image of him, keeps it close to his frantic heart and forces his hands to stop shaking.

He mutes every alert and every function. Shaan’s work number has been imprinted in his mind since he was a child. He types it out quickly, and with a deep, calming breath, he sends over a live-location tag. Then he braves another message:

_ It’s him, isn’t it? _

_ Stay calm. _

_ Don’t let him know you know. Don’t let him see you texting. _

_ I’m on my way to you. _

_ You will be fine, Henry. _

Henry bites hard on his lips to smother a cry that almost breaks through. Shaan doesn’t call him by his name. He never has, not in the worst of times. Either it’s not Shaan who’s texting him, or he’s that concerned about him. He doesn’t like either answer.

It occurs to him with all the gravity it demands, that he might truly not survive this time. He’s in the back of a locked car with a person who could at any point decide to murder him, too hurt already and struggling to breathe. Even if he is talking to Shaan, they’ve had a good head-start on him and there’s no guarantee he’ll make it in time, if they ever stop, if Owens doesn’t find the phone and toss it out. 

He might not survive this.

He thinks of his siblings. Of Bea who’s been a second mom to him since Dad died, always supporting him, keeping him sane. She already lost him once, when he detached himself from her like it was somehow her fault, and she’s been worried for him as much as he has been for her ever since. 

He thinks of his mum, who must be so, so tired of losing people she loves, and he wonders if anything can put a broken heart back together for the second time; he's almost grateful he won't be there to find out. 

He thinks of Shaan, who’ll shoulder the responsibility for this, as if Henry wasn’t the stupid one time and time again. Stupid not to question his symptoms. Stupid to leave the room alone. Stupid to follow Owens outside when he knew someone inside the palace was trying to kill him. He deserved a better charge than Henry, one who would have never left so much guilt in his wake. 

He thinks of Philip, too, and the family he’s made. Despite everything, they almost started to be brothers,  _ real  _ brothers again. His son would never  _ truly _ meet his uncle, too young to remember him now as anything but a fond memory and a story someone once told him of a person who might have loved him very much if he’d been given a better chance.

And he can’t think of Alex, he can't bear to, but he owes him that much. He tries to comprehend the magnitude of the idea for just a second and he decides to do the only thing he can do in this helpless state. He takes a risk and pulls up a draft of an email.

* * *

The hospital waiting room is a mess of urgent, stressed out security officers, terrified doctors and nurses, one very shaken prince, and Alex. It’s a clusterfuck of all the bad decisions of the past few  _ months  _ having their consequences crash down at the exact same time, leaving everyone scrambling for purchase. People are getting questioned left and right, officers rush about, checking rooms, security tapes. Two of them question Philip, who stands there, being ordered around, answering questions, torn from his title and the respect it warrants just this once, in a last-ditch attempt to get to his brother faster.

Alex watches the chaos unravel around him, one thought ringing around in his head, loud enough to overpower everything else.  _ You lost him _ .

They stopped caring about him the moment he told them Henry was already gone by the time he entered the room. That’s fine. He watches everything around him, a numbness spread over his limbs from the fear, save for the horror-filled twist he feels in his chest where the concern has gathered.

_ You lost him _ .

Shaan told him to keep an eye out on his phone, so he’s clutching it in his hands so hard he’s afraid it might break. He watches Shaan the most; if he thought him expressionless before, it’s nothing compared to the frigid face he’s wearing now, masking whatever he’s truly feeling with an outer shell of professionalism. Alex sees the way he asks people questions but never offers any information back. He doesn’t trust them, he realizes. He doesn’t trust any of them. Not after Owens. Philip told him that the two of them served together. Owens trying to harm the youngest prince is a betrayal on too many levels, for too many people.

And it’s because he can’t  _ bear _ to tear his gaze away from the one man he thinks might actually be able to find Henry that he notices when something changes. Shaan freezes, pulls out his phone from his pocket and stares at it for a second, features hardening, before he types something back quickly, like his life depends on it. Or someone else’s.

Alex runs over to him.

“What happened? Is it Henry?”

Shaan studies him like he’s contemplating how much he should say. “Stay here. Don’t move.” He tries to leave but Alex grabs him from the sleeve of his jacket.

“Wait, no. You have to take me with you.”

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz, we need to keep you safe as well. Stay with your agent here.”

“Shaan,  _ please. _ ” His voice cracks, some of that pain slipping through the numbness, and it must let some barrier inside of him crumble because at last it lets the rest of his body react to it: shaky hands and tear-filled eyes, an abundance of fear for him to try to breathe through. “Please, you have to take me with you.”

Shaan removes the hand that’s holding him, then places both of his own on Alex’s shoulders, staring at him intently. “ _ Alex,”  _ he says, stressing the word with an even voice, keeping his expression steady even when Alex’s breath catches. “You need to let me help him.”

He stares, dumbfounded, as Shaan lets him go. Alex lasts about two seconds.

He rushes over to Philip, grabs him harshly by the arm and pulls him towards the exit. Both their security make a move towards them and Alex just glares back at them. “I need to speak with the prince. In  _ private _ .”

Philip, though confused, nods his consent, letting Alex drag him away.

“You got car keys? You can drive, right?”

“No and yes, of course—what exactly are we doing?”

Alex halts. “Go back. Tell them you left something in the car you want to get. Grab a pair of keys,  _ please _ .” If Philip yells at him for ordering him about, he might actually punch him in the face this time. But he just scowls at him, unsure. Alex fights back the urge to yell at him and steps right into his personal space to whisper instead. “Listen, Shaan knows where Henry is, he’s going there  _ right now _ . So get yourself some car keys and let’s  _ go.” _

_ “ _ You want us to follow him?”

“Can we not have a whole discussion right now? Just get the keys!” Alex breathes through the frustration that’s building too fast in his chest. “Look, I can’t stay here and wait for someone to tell me if-if he’s—” Philip looks horrified as Alex clears his throat, forcing himself to move past it. “I’m going. And you should come too—ninety-percent because I can’t fucking drive in your dumbass country, but mostly because he’s  _ your _ damn guard! You can talk to him. And like, he probably won’t kill you. He likes  _ you _ .”

“And- and you?”

Alex swallows hard. “Let me deal with that.”

“Alexander, I don’t think—”

“Don’t make me beg. All you need to do is drive the damn car.” 

He doesn’t know how to convince him if he doesn’t care. He’s supposed to care. He was there this time, wasn’t he? He knows what it feels like, what it looks like to be there and— _ Oh _ . 

“I promise you,” Alex says, swallowing back the bile that rises on the back of his throat. “If you think being there is bad, knowing something happened and you  _ let _ it, is so, so much worse.”

By the time they make it to the car, Shaan is far ahead of them, but Philip calls him, asking for his location.

He’s not happy about it and Alex is certain that if Shaan had room for anything in his mind right now other than getting to Henry he might have a few choice words for Alex. But Philip is still  _ sort of  _ his boss, and he has sworn to serve the family, so with a lot of reluctance, he sends them his location to follow.

It’s not the worst phone call they have to go through in an already insufferable car ride. Alex’s cell rings and he takes it out of his pocket with shaking hands only to freeze at the name on the screen.

“It’s your sister.” Absurdly, he thinks that’s the first time he’s heard Philip swear. “Do you want to take this?”

“Well. She’s calling  _ you _ .” That bastard, it’s probably also the first time he’s glad not to be included. Philip relents, however, with a deep sigh that seems to steal some of his strength. His shoulders slump forward, his prim and proper posture failing under the sheer amount of stress. “Put her on speaker, perhaps?”

Alex nods, turning the speaker on. “Bea?”

_ “Tell me I got the wrong information. Tell me Henry is not actually missing, Alex,  _ please _.” _

He flinches at the sound of her voice, pitched and wavering with a plea that is already heavy with defeat.

“We’re on our way. We’ll get him back, I promise.”

_ “Who is ‘we’?” _

He and Philip exchange a look. “Beatrice,” Philip calls, curt with tension.

Silence falls on the other end. Bea must be going through the mental math needed to end with the two of them doing anything together and not liking where that equation leads. He knows what she’s thinking: how fucked up do things have to get to have Alex working with Philip? Apparently the answer is three attempted assassinations and a missing prince.

Alex might actually throw up in this very expensive car.

“Beatrice,” Philip repeats again, clearing his throat. He’s staring ahead, so focused on the road in front of him that Alex knows he’s just trying to distract himself from whatever it is he means to say. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in response. “I’m. I’m so sorry, Bea.”

_ “What? This isn’t—” _

Philip shoots him a too-quick look. “Can you hang up?” he mutters.

Alex stares at him.

_ “Pip, you couldn’t have known—” _

“Alexander.”

Sending a silent apology to Bea, he does as told, a frown on his face. “Uh. She’s right, you know.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Philip says, the words lacking any emotion to tell Alex he means it. He glances at his own phone and tenses up. “Shaan’s slowing down. Did they stop?”

Alex can’t exactly comfort him, can’t even begin to guess how. And he sure as hell doesn’t have the emotional capacity left to figure out if he wants to. Again, this is something for Henry and Bea to unpack and the one thing Alex can vow to do, is to make sure all three siblings make it home in one piece to be there for each other.

He can do that. He’ll be there for Henry this time.

* * *

He can’t breathe.

His fingers press  _ send _ on the phone when he can no longer physically go on, even if he must have left it half-done because he can’t—there’s no room for thought anymore, just a ceaseless storm of  _ I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. _

His chest feels like a metric tonne has been pressed on top of it, squeezing his lungs into his heart, for there’s no longer room for both. It hurts. 

If he were to die, he wanted this room. He wanted a final breath escaping like a soft breeze, and a heart too full, whole and satisfied. Not this. Never this.

“Can you… stop?” Henry chokes out, hoping against all hope that Owens is still playing the part of the loyal guard and he’ll pretend to listen to him. “Pull over. I… I think… I’m going to be sick.”

“I can’t do that, Sir.” His voice is clipped, dismissive. He probably didn’t even bother looking towards him.

He’s about to say something when the phone slips from his fingers, clattering on the floor of the car, under the driver’s seat.

“What was that?” Owens barks, all pretense gone. “What was that sound?”

Ruse gone, Henry pushes himself into a sitting position with trembling hands. It eases the pressure on his lungs just a bit, but the change in altitude makes him dizzy. “Pull over,” he repeats, leaning his head back against the window.

“Was that a phone?”

Henry catches his eye in the right-side mirror. And you know what? “Go fuck yourself,” he smirks. Despite the weakness in the gesture, he thinks the attitude translated quite well.

Owens is seething, nostrils flaring as he tries to keep calm. He turns the car to the most deserted roads, one after the other, until he finally stops in a tiny alleyway, barely wide enough for the car to fit with a door half-open.

Henry thinks, with an air of surrealism to it, that this is going to be his one chance to do something. And a sob builds in the center of his chest but there’s no space for it, so it comes out as a mindless, broken laugh. He doesn’t want to do this. He’s so bloody tired already. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to feel this scared anymore. And it’s not  _ fair _ that he’s not given a choice, other than to die quietly. He stopped being quiet long ago.

He forces himself to take a better position, knees bent and ready to move, back slightly forward, one hand on the surface of the backseat, the other gripping the edge of the driver’s. Everything fucking hurts and he tries to prepare himself for it to get so, so much worse, because it’s the only way it’ll ever get any better. He needs to survive this. He promised them all it’ll be okay.

Owens gets out of the car.

Henry launches himself forward. He grabs the door handle, slamming the door as fast as he can and pushing down the locks. Stuck in the middle of the car, he gathers the rest of him to the front seats, just as Owens lets out a loud swear.

Henry’s whole body protests the little movement, his sprained hand sending bolts of lightning up his arm to match the white-hot pain on his side where he knocked his injured rib against the side of the seat. 

But Owens doesn’t seem fazed. And he understands why, when he pulls a gun from his jacket and shoots at the glass. He doesn’t aim for Henry, he won’t kill him like this, it seems. He breaks the back window where he can still reach the locks to open the door. 

As he searches around for the misplaced phone, swearing up a storm, Henry crawls over to the left side and stumbles out the door. His hands collide with the pavement first, then his knees and it costs him too much time and too much strength to drag himself to his feet.

Owens doesn’t hurry. And it’s that indifference to what Henry’s doing that finally gets the point across.

There’s nowhere he can go.

He’s actually going to die.

For a moment there he truly thought he would— that he could—

He should have called someone. He should have called Alex. 

If he was going to fail anyway… He could have heard his voice.

“Are you done?” Owens asks, rounding the car.

Henry steps back, shutting the door. He sways on his feet for a second, but he regains his balance, standing as proud as he can with his injuries. He’s not getting back in the fucking car. They still have his last location; maybe he’ll still be found, in a way.

“Can you at least tell me why?” He takes another step back. “You’re Philip’s guard. I thought you wanted to serve the Crown.”

“I  _ do _ serve the Crown.” The absolute confidence in his declaration, the self-righteousness that makes his voice boom and his back stand straight gives him his answer before Owens can put it into words. “And its values. Its image. Your family  _ means _ something, and you made a bloody joke out of it.”

Henry’s heart dives down to his stomach. He doesn’t care what Owens thinks of him. But he doesn’t want to die like this.

He doesn’t want Alex to know he died for this.

Henry closes his eyes, a few stray tears running warm against his cheeks. He thinks he’s hurting but he swears he’s almost numb as a sad smile curls up his lips. Alex’s words come back to him, read in his voice even if he never uttered them out loud.

“What do you think you’ll gain from this?” he asks, and Owens freezes at the stillness of his voice. “You cannot win.”

_ Thinking about history makes me wonder how I’ll fit into it one day. _

He scoffs. “Of course, I can. I already have.” Owens takes another step towards him, pointing the gun at him. “I might be disgraced officially, but people will know what I did. They’ll know it was right. And I will have gotten rid of you.”

_ And you too. _

Henry’s smile stretches. And he hopes Alex will somehow know how much peace the thought of him brought in his darkest moment. “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t get rid of me. You can kill me, of course. Make me a martyr, if you must. But I’ve already left my mark. My name, the one you think I don’t deserve, will forever be tied to who I was and what I did, and it will be so much  _ brighter  _ than the ones before me because for the first time in a long time, I fucking  _ stood  _ for something good.”

_ History, huh? _

“No one will remember who killed me. But they’ll remember how I lived.”

_ Bet we could make some. _

“You cannot erase me.”

Owens doesn’t back down. Henry never expected he would. But even as the shot rings out in the empty alley, both of them know who truly won. And for as long as he’ll live, no matter how little that might be, Henry won’t forget how scared that man looked.

* * *

Henry doesn’t remember passing out, but he wakes up screaming.

His abdomen is on  _ fire _ and something presses hard against it, driving the pain in harder. His chest is heaving, deep, desperate breaths he cannot hold, and he has to blink the tears away from his eyes so he can put a name to the voice he can’t quite focus on yet.

“…. ry… Breathe… Just…. onger… ulance… soon.”

Henry gasps, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. Shaan pushes sweat-soaked hair away from his face, letting his hand rest on the back of Henry’s neck, propping him up. It helps somewhat.

“Hold on. Help will be here soon.” His expression is all wrong, strung with pain and remorse and Shaan just doesn’t look like that. “I am so sorry, Henry.”

In spite of everything, Henry smiles. “You… you  _ did _ call me by my name… I thought someone… stole your phone.” He laughs and ends up coughing instead, then gasping, before his breathing settles down into the semi-steady pattern he hopelessly tried to maintain before.

“Shh, stay calm. We’re going to get you some help.”

“Shaan?” He makes the mistake of looking down, where rivers of red have stained his shirt, the asphalt beneath him. Shaan is holding some kind of fabric on the wound, but it’s already too soaked for him to be able to recognize it. “I…” He was strong in front of Owens before, because he refused to let him win. Here, now there’s no one to beat. It’s just him and Shaan, both stained with a stark crimson that mirrors the growing fear inside him. “I-I don’t want to die.”

Before Shaan can respond, Henry is convinced he’s already dead, when another voice, one he thought he’d never hear again calls out his name.

“ _ Henry! _ ”

The sudden sob he lets out forces another coughing fit but he still manages to grin when Alex falls to his knees next to him, taking his head to cradle in his hands.

“No, no, baby,  _ no.”  _ Alex is already crying, an endless stream of tears slipping down his cheeks. Henry lifts his right hand to brush the side of his jaw, as if to hold them where they gather. “Henry,  _ Henry _ …” He repeats, again and again.

“I’m okay…” Henry tries to smile. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He’s too tired to hold his hand up any longer, but when it falls, Alex takes it in his own, kissing the inside of his palm, placing it on his cheek, and keeping it there.

“I was supposed to—I’m sorry, Henry. I’m sorry.”

He notices the darkness framing his vision deepen as the pain recedes, and if he had any strength left maybe he would worry more about it. But right now, the only thing he cares about is getting the words out in time.

His fingers twitch in Alex’s hand, brushing against his cheekbone. “Don’t… Don’t apologize… I love you. Listen to me,” he adds, when Alex opens his mouth. To protest? To say it back? It doesn’t matter. He needs to know. Alex needs to know first.

He lowers his hand to Alex’s shirt, tugging him down to whisper in his ear.

“I love you. And… no matter how brief… we were history, love.” Alex doubles over, hiding his face in the crook of Henry’s neck as he sobs. Henry presses a gentle kiss to the side of his head. “I love you.”

As the darkness takes over, he thinks he can hear the sound of sirens in the background and a third, familiar voice broken with fear, calling his name. But he can’t respond. The last thought in his mind as he blacks out is that somehow, with the feel of Alex’s arms around him, his heart is at last so full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I really am sorry. Will get the next one up soon!
> 
> Let me know what you thought?


	9. 5. "I just wish I could forget all that blood"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 of the Assassination Plot
> 
> Prompt of the day: "I just wish I could forget all that blood"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to collectively ignore the fact that this is supposed to be chapter 10 and I'm going to discreetly change the order when the actual chapter 9 is ready, okay? XD
> 
> Note: As with the previous chapter TW: mentions of homophobia and a lot of hospital scenes
> 
> Also, remember when in ch 2 I said I tried to keep it medically accurate? An attempt was made here as well but at this point, there are too many injuries for me to confidently google what is supposed to happen in this case so if you're a medical professional and you're reading this I'm SO SORRY for the butchering.

The world goes quiet. It’s odd because everything is so loud, every sound dialed up to a hundred, piercing to his ears. But it’s _quiet_ like they all lost the ability to speak when Henry quieted down. Alex lets the paramedics pull him away, watches, his words lost somewhere down his throat, as they load Henry up into the stretcher then into the ambulance, his head lolling helplessly as they move.

The siren is blaring. But when the paramedic asks if one of them is going to go with and Shaan and Alex both step up at the same time, Alex backs away without protest. Shaan can protect him.

They don’t exchange a word.

When he returns to the car with Philip, they don’t talk. All the way to the hospital, they drive in tense silence. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t cry, he barely breathes. Philip’s phone rings, and when it’s not Shaan, he doesn’t pick up. It rings again. Bea. Philip pales at the sight of her name on the screen and struggles to say something, his lips forming words he can’t speak, so he shakes his head, gesturing to Alex to leave it unanswered. _She’s never going to forgive us for this_ , Alex doesn’t say. Nor does he voice his next thought, that strikes so hard it makes him flinch: _We let her brother bleed out on the pavement. She’s never going to forgive us anyway._

By the time they make it to the hospital, Henry has already been taken to surgery and Alex feels the panic creep up on him, as if the fact that he couldn’t get one last look before Henry was taken finally broke through whatever piece of armor he hid behind. Shaan places a steadying hand on his shoulder and leads him to the nearest, most private waiting room he can find, pushes him into a chair.

Philip joins him a short while later. Neither of them says anything, not until they hear a familiar voice approaching, the terrified undertone to her voice traveling easily through the halls.

Philip seizes up, his eyes widening in terror. He exchanges a fearful look with Alex and only when he sees his eyes travel down to Alex’s clothes does he realize his mistake. As Philip gets up and tosses his suit jacket to Alex’s lap, Henry’s words come back to him.

_The way they looked at me. I can’t forget it._

He rushes to put it on, to cover the glaring crimson stain that dried on his shirt, watching as Philip meets Bea at the door. She hugs him out of instinct, or desperation, or both, and he uses that to turn her around, making sure she can’t look at Alex before he’s done.

_And Bea—Did you know Philip snapped at her so she wouldn’t come inside and see?_

But when Bea looks towards him and sees Alex in her brother’s jacket, she _knows_. And he’s forced to see the grief cascade down her body, the way it draws her face into a mask of horror, mouth agape yet wordless, and how it curls her shoulders inward, reaching her knees until she crumbles on the chair next to him, trembling.

He can’t even reach out to hug her, not without taking his hands out of his pocket where he stuck them to hide the red that coats them.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Alex lets it ring out, and only when the caller immediately calls back does he step out of the room to pick it up, casting furtive glances behind him the entire time.

The _hello_ tears his throat on the way up. The worry in her voice bends him forward,

"Can you come?" He says, voice hoarse and shaking. His stomach burns with guilt for being selfish but he doesn’t know how to survive this another way. "Things are bad here. Please. I need you."

The first person who actually shows up next is Pez. He gets there two hours later, bubblegum pink hair tousled, worry lines carved on his face and he finds them in the exact same position he would have two hours before. Henry is still in surgery. And they're still angry and hurting and barely held together by high-strung nerves and frayed threads of hope.

Bea gets up to hug him. She holds on to him too tightly, for too long. Pez's already alarmed expression sinks more the longer she doesn't let go, as if her misery is passing off on him. When they return to the seats, Bea takes a spot closer to Philip, letting Pez sit next to Alex.

He takes one look at Alex’s hunched figure, still wearing Philip's too long suit jacket that makes him look even smaller curled up on that chair, and places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

"What happened to him?" He asks, his gaze shifting between the two of them.

Philip gets up and leaves the room.

He doesn't return for another hour but he brings news. Philip steps in front of them, and his look is so hollow it's impossible to predict what he's about to say. He would look more heartbroken if his little brother had died, right?

"Pip?" Bea asks and Alex startles at the sound of her voice so shaky and small, like a child asking her big brother to lift her up.

Pez grips his arm, fingernails digging into the thick fabric of the jacket.

Alex searches himself for a reaction but he's been on the precipice of a panic attack for so long the only thing he feels is a heavy, lead weight on his gut making him sick, and the inability to draw in a good breath, still ways away from a proper panic. He needs the verdict for that. He needs to see... he needs to believe it.

"I spoke with his doctor... Henry's out of surgery but he's... he's not out of the water yet. They have him in the ICU, it'll be- it'll be touch and go for a while longer."

Bea gives a dry sob that might be remorse or maybe relief; judging by the jumbled mess of feelings brewing within him, it's both. Pez deflates next to him, grip loosening, while Alex lets his head fall back against the chair, staring at the ceiling as though begging the skies for mercy, even if he can’t conjure up the words to pray right now.

"Are visitors allowed?" Pez asks for all of them.

"No more than one at a time, I've been told. And..." Philip cringes, looking away. "He won't be awake."

"Have you seen him?" Bea’s head is in her hands, while Pez has taken to rubbing comforting circles on her back.

“I… I thought… N-no.” He clears his throat, though the discomfort remains on his face, crumpling up his features. “One of you should go.”

Alex and Bea exchange a look. Pez’s gaze keeps shifting between the two of them, waiting to see which one will brave the first step.

“You should.”

“Go,” Alex says at the same time as her. “No, I—” He tries to add but he’s not sure how to protest. He wants to see him. He wants to stay away. He doesn’t know if he can handle it, he won’t forgive himself if he doesn’t try, and somehow letting Bea do it is both a solution and a sacrifice. How can he explain that?

Bea straightens up in her seat, wipes stray tears from her cheeks. “You’re going. You’re going so you can see him, so then you can go home and take a shower and change your clothes because I don’t know if you two thought you were being inconspicuous but I know exactly what you’re trying to hide, Alex, it’s on your hands, it’s on your neck for the love of…”

Alex gapes at her, his hand flying to the side of his neck as if he could feel the blood there by touch, even when his hand is just as stained. He meant to go wash it off. He never did.

Pez looks at him now, eyes narrowed in pain glued to the stain he fails to hide, his mouth curled like he’s going to be sick.

Nodding numbly, Alex pushes himself to his feet. Worry twists in his stomach, sending waves of too-hot anxiety through his body in time with his pulse. The sensation burns through him gradually, and he can’t focus on anything else but the beating of his heart and the sickness in his veins as he’s led through endless hospital halls, feeling distinctly like he’s walking to his own execution.

It’s the opposite of the day before when he rushed, desperate to get to Henry, to see his face and hold him tight, and it’s the first merciless sign that shows him exactly what he’s expecting to find behind the door.

He knows which hospital room he’s meant to enter long before the nurse points it out. There’s a lone figure standing outside it, wound up so tight it would put Philip to shame, if it wasn’t for the drop in his shoulders. It's barely there but on him it's glaring.

Alex waves the nurse off with a grateful smile he’s not sure he achieves, and walks over to where Shaan is waiting. He gives him a quick nod as he steps aside to let Alex pass.

“Are you going to stand there the entire time?” Alex asks, clearing his throat when his voice comes out too rough.

“Yes.”

“Did you see him?”

Shaan’s face is more unreadable than usual, which, as far as Alex is concerned, means he’s actually hiding more baggage than Alex himself is. “No. My job is to protect him, lousy though I may have been of it as of late. My place is here.”

“You know it’s not—”

“I would encourage you not to continue this conversation, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. Frankly, the pity makes it worse. You should go ahead inside.”

Okay. He can do this. Two steps in. Like ripping a band-aid. Staying outside won’t change anything and Henry might need him there with him, awake or not. He needs to do this for Henry.

For…

 _We were history, love_.

For…

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz?” Shaan’s voice is tinged with concern. “Are you well?”

He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. He doesn’t look towards the room until he’s closed it behind him, exhaling as he bars himself from the world.

His back is to the bed but there’s no mistaking the sharp, steady beeping of the heart monitor in his ears. Alex swallows back the bile rising in his throat, telling himself at least he’s alive, savor the sound, it means he’s still fighting. It’s so much harder to hold on to this mindset for the whoosh of air that keeps a different pattern. Each timed sound shatters a bit of his resolve.

Alex turns around.

A low moan breaks past his barriers, pain exhaled with his breath, and he stumbles forward, reaching for the nearest chair.

Henry is lying on the hospital bed, his skin pale as the sheets around him and so translucent he can see little blue veins branching patterns on his wrists, on the bruises of his eyelids. His hair is spread around him like a halo, yet the color is so dim in the weak light of the hospital room it looks like it’s fading. Like the light is running out and Alex doesn’t know how to keep it there.

Alex sinks on the chair by his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for his, careful not to disturb the too many lines connected to him. Wires and IVs and blood transfusions, the thin red line that runs down to him so stark against all the white of the hospital room. Alex is mesmerized by the sight of it, even as he fights back images of the same color splattered, on torn clothes and cursed pavements, on Henry’s hand as it wiped against his cheek before it slipped, even when Alex tried to hold on to him.

He takes his hand again now and it’s cold and lifeless, and Alex withdraws as if struck. He reaches one more time, appalled at himself for recoiling but he hesitates, barely brushing his fingertips on the inside of his palm.

Alex’s eyes betray him, for they shift to the one thing he’s been avoiding since he heard it, that loud whoosh of air that might not even be loud at all but it’s all he can hear, over the steady beat of the monitor, over the frantic thumping of his own heart. He looks at the tube firmly placed in Henry’s mouth and it’s so hard to tell himself that at least he’s breathing when he knows that thing is there because he’s _not_.

He tries to control his own breaths as if he could somehow do it for the both of them but he lost this game the moment he let his gaze fall onto that. All he sees is Henry, pale and cold and lifeless on a hospital bed, stitches in his stomach and tubes in his lungs, and Alex doubles over, groaning, burying his face on the sheets that smell too strongly of antiseptic. They’re not like the sheets they have at home—they’re not—their soap’s scent is sweeter, softer. Fresh vanilla and something else he can’t identify and always forgets even though he’s the one who does all the laundry because Henry is so fucking bad at it and Alex has gotten so annoyed at him for this before and who the fuck even _cares_ if Henry can’t do laundry when he can do so many amazing things.

Without looking up, Alex reaches for his hand again, grasping it in both of his, cupping it then intertwining their fingers, rubbing half-moons on the back of his palm like he could share some of his warmth and Henry would be okay again.

His warmth. His breath. Anything. _Anything._

The first sob crashes against the patterns the machines have created, raw and broken and shaky, so unlike the steady beat of everything else. And he can’t stop thinking of Henry and the laundry, the smell of home, lying on the couch with the sound of Henry’s heartbeat loud where Alex rests on his chest. The soft tickle of Henry's breath against his ear when he whispers secret I-love-you’s like they could be stolen away.

He dares look up again and the image shatters. Henry’s smile vanishes behind the heavy whoosh of air, the first light of dawn through their bedroom window chased away by white, artificial light. The scent of Henry’s skin hides under alcohol and blood and chlorine, and _Alex needs to go home_.

The thought sends something tumbling in his mind, breaking the last of his self-control. It tears his heart in two to let go of his hand but Alex stumbles away from the chair and the bed, and he scrambles for the door, the tears in his eyes already too thick to see through them.

He almost falls over when he fumbles the door open, tripping over his own feet as he backs away.

He turns around and tries to make a run for it. Strong arms seize him within the first five steps.

“Sir? What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Shaan has both hands on his shoulders, steadying him before he can bolt. “What happened?”

“I want to go home,” Alex gasps, uncaring of how little sense it makes. “I want to go home, I can’t do this, I need to go home, _please I can’t—I can’t, Shaan, please, please!_ ” He’s trembling, spluttering nonsense. His hands come to the front of his mouth trying to halt the avalanche, to no avail.

“Home? What do you mean home?”

“I can’t do this! I want to go home, I can’t.”

“Sir—”

“It’s not fair, it’s not fucking _fair_. _Shaan_.” His voice cracks into a million pieces, yet the shards are not sharper than his words. “Four days ago—four days ago he was _fine,_ he was home, playing with David and-and being bad at cooking but somehow great at baking, and-and I came back home annoyed at something that had _nothing_ to do with him and he tried to hug me and I snapped at him. Why did I snap at him? I should have let him hold me.”

“Sir, you shouldn’t—”

“Henry shouldn’t _be here_ , Shaan. He belongs at home with me. This isn’t fair. I want to go home. I want to take him home, _please_. I—”

He shuts up when Shaan’s arms go around him, pulling him into a hug. The shock breaks whatever got into him, silences him fully. Shaan’s chest is firm and his arms are strong and steady, so Alex breathes in the cologne on his shirt until he calms down.

“None of this is your fault. Or his,” Shaan says, pulling away to look him in the eyes. His gaze is heavy on his and the calm he finds there, despite the situation, allows him to believe him. “And he knows how much you love him.”

“He…”

“He does. Come on, I’ll take you back to the palace. You need the rest.”

Shaan keeps a hand on his shoulder as he speaks with quick, short sentences on the phone, arranging for a replacement of his watch. Alex recognizes the face that comes to keep guard, even if he can’t put a name to it. After Shaan exchanges a few instructions, he leads Alex away, though he hesitates on the door that puts Henry’s room out of sight.

“Why are you the one driving me?” Alex dares to ask. “I thought you didn’t want to leave.”

“He would never forgive me if I left you on your own like this, Sir. And I already have too much to atone for.”

“Shaan—”

“Don’t.”

The car ride is uncomfortable, though he supposes it would have been a lot worse with a stranger in the driver’s seat. The exhaustion has settled on him by now, joining the despair, and it leaves him feeling one with the dirt. He can’t get the image of Henry on that bed out of his mind, no matter how hard he presses his palms to his sockets. He has felt like puking for half an hour now and honestly he just wants to get that over with.

“You’ll call me if something changes, right?” Alex asks, fiddling with his thumbs in his lap.

“Of course. I’ll send someone to pick you up whenever you are ready to return. You have my number.”

Alex nods twice, slowly. The car comes to a stop but he can’t get out without one more question. “Hey… What happened to that man?”

Shaan’s fingers clench around the steering wheel. “I had to choose between going after him and tending to the prince. I made the choice. There are people tracking him down, however, and we’re confident he’ll be found soon.”

Alex meets his eyes through the rearview mirror. “How well did you know him?”

“Too well to have let this happen, Sir.”

Alex falls asleep in Henry’s room, on sheets and covers that smell like him. He’s thought many times that the room doesn’t feel like Henry, but now his presence haunts it, the image of him bouncing around the corners. He sits there writing on the desk. He smiles at Alex from the windowsill, painted with a warm outline from the afternoon light. He’s reading beside him on the bed, and Alex actually notices the very real paperback left on the nightstand. He picks it up, leafs through the pages, finds the bookmark and traces the words, wondering where Henry stopped and why.

He falls asleep with tear tracks on his cheeks and he convinces himself it’s leftover water from the shower.

Surrounded by Henry’s presence, when someone rubs on his shoulders to guide him to wake, he grabs for the touch, a name already on his lips.

“Henry?” he mumbles, half-asleep before he registers what’s he’s doing. “Oh. What are you doing here?”

“You told me to come, remember?” June whispers, squeezing his shoulder. “Zahra is here too, for Shaan. Mom couldn’t leave, though she’s trying. Dad says he’ll be here soon. Nora is waiting to hear from you about what to do with David but she really wants to fly over.”

Alex sits up, rubbing at his face. His mouth is dry, his eyes puffy from crying. “You didn’t all have to come…”

“We’re here for both of you. We’re not going to leave you alone through this.” June frowns, biting her lip before she asks, “How are you doing, Alex?”

“How am _I_ doing?”

“You might not be the one injured but you’re hurting. We can go see Henry in a bit, now I want to hear about you.”

Alex tries to smile. It wobbles and falls before the first word. “I’m…” He’s fine, he’s _fine_ , it’s not him people need to worry about, not when Henry is hurt.

He can’t say it. Not to June. “June, I’m so scared,” he admits in a soft whisper, looking at her with eyes wide and pleading.

She pulls him in a hug, hiding his head in the crook of her neck. One hand is tangled in his curls, the other rubs comforting circles on his back. She used to do that for him when they were children, when he woke up after a nightmare but thought himself too old to bother their mom. Except this isn’t a nightmare, this is his reality and he can’t wake up from it until Henry does.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if—If something goes wrong, June, I…”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t _know_ that.”

“You have to believe, Alex, you can’t start mourning him already. He’s right there. Stay by his side. Hold his hand. He’ll know you’re there.”

Alex sobs, finally wrapping his hands around her waist as well, pulling her closer against him. “I love him so much. I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t. You _won’t_.”

They bring coffee for everyone still at the hospital on the way back. They give one to Shaan and one to Philip, but Pez refuses so he can take Bea to sleep at his place for a few hours now that the shift has changed. Nobody wants to be left alone right now.

He notices Philip has refused to leave, yet when he asks Bea, she tells him he hasn’t been in the room once. He keeps disappearing off somewhere, but when summoned he always shows up within two minutes, proving he’s still at the hospital. Martha has called her twice already to make sure everything is still okay, apparently, her husband nowhere to be found.

“I didn’t take him for the fussy type,” Alex mutters.

“Maybe what the press is saying got to him,” June says, backtracking when all three turn to look at her, equally lost. “Oh, you didn’t see? People got word of what happened. And, well… Some of them are not only blaming Philip for the incident but… they say he might have been in on it.”

“ _What_?” Bea bristles, the anger on her face only deepened by her exhaustion. “Are you serious?”

Alex flinches. He may have accused him of the same thing at some point but in his defense, he didn’t really mean it.

“Look, my brother can be a complete fucking arse but he would _never_ —I cannot _believe_ —No, I can believe it but…” Bea deflates, running a hand through her hair. “We shouldn’t have to deal with this on top of everything right now.”

Pez sighs through his nose. “I don’t see why you expected anything better. I’m honestly surprised they didn’t accuse Alex of it.” He somehow still convinces her to talk to her brother later (when hopefully they can find him) and guides her out the door to get some rest.

The one person at a time rule still applies for Henry’s hospital room, so Alex sends June in first since she hasn’t been yet, and because he’ll try his hardest to really stay with him this time. Alex reaches for his phone as he waits and finds too many messages and missed calls to deal with. He ignores the emails, even though he knows some professors might be looking for him, and the calls, and takes a cursory look through his texts. June wasn’t kidding about the press. Random classmates and friends have sent him messages; he even got one from one of his professors.

A sad smile struggles to stick when he sees Liam's. _We’re buying dinner when you’re both back in the US. Take care of each other._ His heart clenches at the simple confidence of it.

When June returns her eyes are misty and she hugs Alex like he’s going to disappear if she lets go.

“This is such bullshit,” she says. Alex huffs with no bite. “Do you want to talk about what happened? I only know what I heard from the press and… you don’t _have_ to, only if you think it will help.”

Alex leans his head on hers, lets his eyes slip closed. “I wasn’t even there for most of it. He got hurt once before I got here, bastard pushed him down the fucking staircase.” June stiffens against him. “And then by the time we figured out who it was, he had already taken Henry away… he-he was their guard, Henry trusted him—why wouldn’t he? How was he to know that he’d be… a fucking… he hurt him _because of me_ , June.”

Then his face is in her hands and she strokes his cheeks, pushes his hair back. “No, no, Alex, no. Shut up. You know that’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not your fault that that man is a monster. He’s a _monster_ , Alex. He hurt Henry because of who he was, and that’s not your fault, nor Henry’s. It’s his. And he’ll pay for it. Do you understand?”

“I wasn’t even there,” he whispers, voice so weak it’s surprising she even hears him. “We found him minutes before he passed out. I just- I wish I could forget all of that _blood_.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But it'll get easier, I promise. Henry will wake up. He’ll recover and he’ll be fine and he'll be happy. And then it won’t matter anymore, because when you remember, he’ll be there to hold your hand and tell you it’s not real anymore.” June gives him a final squeeze then before she urges him to get up. “Now, go get a head start. Stay with him.”

He pushes himself from his seat, wiping at his eyes. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

Alex passes her the phone. “Could you maybe look through my emails for the important stuff? I really can’t deal with this right now.”

“Of course.”

It’s easier the second time around but it’s not easy. He still can’t stand the sight of Henry asleep on the hospital bed, hooked up to a dozen different things. He’s a grim kind of sleeping beauty, and Alex can’t even kiss him with that thing covering his mouth. But as much as it hurts to look at, Alex takes a seat next to him and focuses his gaze on the hand that he takes in his and only that.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, playing with Henry’s fingers. “It’s a pretty sucky morning with you not awake. I’m not mad at you, though. I know you’re asleep to stay comfortable with everything here. And even if you weren’t, that’d be fine too. You deserve the rest. I’ll be- I’ll be here when you wake up. We all will. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

He lowers his head to rest on the edge of the bed, keeping their intertwined hands close. He presses a kiss to his knuckles before he closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of their hands together. “You’ll be all right, baby.”

He’s not sure if he falls asleep or if he just stays like this with his eyes closed for an extraordinary amount of time but he doesn’t open his eyes until the door opens and closes and someone once again places a hand on his back. The light from the window can’t compete with the clinical, white light always on above the bed but he takes a look towards the window and sees the warm tones outside that keep getting darker. Sunset? He has no idea what time it is. Or what day.

“Sorry to wake you. Just wanted to tell you we were here.”

Even though he was warned, he’s still surprised to see his dad on a chair next to him.

“Wasn’t sleeping,” Alex mumbles. “I think. Who’s ‘we’?”

“Amy came to replace your security agent. Figured we might as well have a friendly face. How are you doing, _mijo_?”

Alex sits up better and notices he still has a hold on Henry’s hand. His fingers are sore but though he stretches them, he doesn’t let go. “I’m… you know… here. Waiting.”

Oscar sighs, his features heavy with remorse that doesn’t belong to him. Alex doesn’t recognize the grief in it until he turns towards Henry. Oscar reaches and, with movements too gentle for his hands, he pushes away a few wayward blond tufts that stick to his forehead. “How is _he_ doing?”

His mouth goes dry. “Same, I guess. They have him sedated. He can’t fucking breathe on his own. I’m losing my mind wondering if he ever will.” Oscar’s frown deepens. “But his stitches are holding well apparently so, uh, small victories?”

He wastes no time in pulling Alex against his side. It’s a bit awkward with how they’re seated but Alex didn’t realize how much he needed his father’s sturdy figure to hold himself up. “Your sister told me what happened. Alex, you need to promise me to be careful.”

“He _was_ careful—”

“I know he was! I know. I just want you to fucking promise me, okay? Especially until they find the bastard. Promise me.”

Alex remembers June hugging him as if his life depended on it and he wonders if watching Bea roam the halls like a ghost hit her in a different way than he thought. “I promise…”

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Oscar says with a voice too rough, running a hand down his face. He looks too tired and it stabs at him, this image of his dad so torn. “He’s just a kid. You both are. And I can’t help thinking what if it was… just keep your head with you, won’t you? For your old man’s sake. It’s hard enough as it is.”

“ _Dad_.”

“You know you’re going to be fine. Both of you. It might take a while, and it’s not going to be easy. But you’ll pull through.”

He fights back the protest. Everyone keeps saying that. What if they’re wrong? Still, he can’t bear to make his dad sadder, so he searches for something to distract them both.

His eyes catch on a small thing by Henry’s legs that was not there before.

“Dad, what is that?”

“Oh, right,” Oscar chuckles, picking up the little stuffed toy and handing it to him. “I thought I’d bring it upstairs. It only occurred to me when I walked in that I should have waited until he was in a proper room for that.”

“Did you… buy this?” He turns the animal around in his hands, a cartoon beagle with an oversized rainbow tie around his neck. “It’s so specific.” Alex smiles, despite himself. It’s silky soft, and if he holds on to it a little too close, his dad is not going to mention it.

“What? No. I took one from the kids outside. Told her I’d deliver it to Henry. I should tell Srivastava to deal with that at some point.”

“What kids outside?”

Before his dad has a chance to respond, June barges in, with tears in her eyes and her mouth agape, at loss. Alex and Oscar both stand up even if they probably would be the first ones to know if something bad happened.

“Okay, we’re too many people for this room,” Alex blurts out, more stress than person at this point.

June ignores that. “ _Alex_ ,” she gasps, reaching out to take his hand. She presses his phone into his palm. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have looked.”

“Bug, what happened?”

June sniffles, wiping at her cheeks. “You told me to look through your emails? And I saw one from-from Shaan, I figured it was important, and I should have stopped reading, I’m sorry. But you need to read this.”

“From Shaan?”

“It’s from Henry.” Cold shock washes down his back. His chest curls in and he shudders, pressure building in the back of his eyes before he even knows for what he's preparing. “He texted you from the car.”

“Everyone out." He's clenching the phone in his hand so tightly he fears it might break. “Out, get out!”

Even when the door closes behind him, he can’t bear to look at it. Instead, he turns to Henry. He leans over to press a deep kiss to his forehead, then rests his own against him, closing his eyes, trying to find the scent of him over the overbearing cleanness of the hospital. He’s warmer than before. Alex just wants to hold him. “What did you do?” he whispers. “What were you thinking?”

Alex forces himself to pull back, and with one hand firmly holding Henry’s, he opens the email June was talking about.

It takes him too long to read, latching onto every word, his heart shedding pieces at every typo or missing capital letters or strung-on sentence, for he knows how careful Henry is with his writing and he knows how much pain he had to be in, how scared he must have been, writing this in a panic. He drinks in every word, and he’s grateful for every sob that wrecks him because, for all it hurts, he can hold on to this message as long as it takes for Henry to wake up.

It’s the last few lines that make him lose it. He moans like he’s the one hurt. He can feel the urgency he must have felt in his own chest, the need to get it out and it’s not _fucking fair_. He needs to talk to him, he needs Henry to know that he got the message and he loves him so, so much. Alex needs him to wake the fuck up.

There’s no contemplating alternate scenarios anymore. He has to wake up because _this_ , this can’t be the last thing Henry says to him. He doesn’t get to leave him like this when Alex can’t even respond.

He buries his face against Henry's side, holding his hand with all he has. He grabs the silly stuffed toy too, hugging it like a child, wishing the real David was there to bring them both some comfort. “Henry…” he whimpers. “Baby, you’re going to stay with me, all right? You said it yourself you didn’t want that to be your-your goodbye.”

The constant buzzing of several texts startles him enough to look up.

_You need to look outside. Now._

_what’s going on?_

_Just get to the front entrance._

The room has a small window but no balcony and he can’t see anything but the opposite building from there. Alex swears. He glances at Henry before he leaves, gnawing on his lower lip. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” He leaves the puppy at his feet.

Alex rushes out of the room, surprising Shaan who’s still outside. “Watch him, I’ll be right back!” he calls back like Shaan awaited his instruction to do the thing he’s been doing the entire time.

_Dear Alex_

_I beg you to forgive the state of this email. It might be lacking and it’s not the goodbye i wish to give you. Of course i_ _f it were up to me I would never say goodbye at all. Just this once i wish my words won't reach you that I will slip your phone in my pocket as I hold you for all dear life and get rid of this before it could ever hurt you_

He skids to a halt, frozen stiff in the waiting room.

Princess Catherine has arrived. She stands there, holding on to her son’s shoulders as they speak in hushed tones. Alex can’t hear what they’re saying. He doesn’t need to. Her eyes are bloodshot, fresh tears marking trails down her cheeks faster than they can dry.

She catches sight of him a few steps away and she stares, her mouth forming a wobbly line that wavers but never parts to speak.

_But I wanted to leave you with something, incoherent though it may be beuca im lying in the back of the car, trying not to be seen IN a position that would have my doctors in a rage— for good reason. It’s extraordinarily hard to breathe— but as I have a good inclination as to where this ride is headed i think my doctors might have bigger issues to deal with than this illadvised endeavour_

Philip turns to look at what’s gotten her attention and he pales at his disheveled state. “Is everything…?”

“Yes, yeah—well, the same. June told me I need to get outside?”

Philip’s brows shoot up but he seems to understand. That makes one of them. “That way,” he points.

“You should go see,” Catherine says with a weak smile. She steps up to hug him before he leaves. Her arms are stronger than he expects and when she plants a kiss on his cheek, he melts a little in the embrace.

“Thank you.”

_as much strength as I get from your presence alone, I’m glad you’re not here with me. I can rest easy knowing you’ll be safe, if not fine. I hope you’ll be all no I know you’ll be all right without me. You’re the most resilient person I know. yYou were brave when I wasn’t and you pulled me into a light vibrant, full of iridescent colours, the brightest dawn after a long and painful storm. You fought so hard for us whent he odds were against us and now, with the odds stacked against me once more, i will try my hardest to find the same defiance you always inspire in me, and fight my way back to you._

“Alex, wait.” Amy catches up to him and fuck, his dad was right. He does feel better to see her. “I leave for half a second and Shaan tells me you ran off?”

“You were waiting outside the door?”

“Of course! Where are you going?”

“Outside?” he says, like a question. And she smiles, of course, she smiles, what is it that he’s meant to see?

“Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

_No matter what happens know that i’ll be thinking of you. and your thoughts will bring me strength. you’re with me love in the stubborn beating of my heart and the tenacity of every breath. In the bite of my words and the pride that i feel that at least if I am to die, I will die as myself, the piece of history that’s meant for me imbued with the truth of who i was, a truth i’ve given you freely and wholly._

“Are you ready?” Amy asks. They’re standing a few steps from the entrance but the glass is opaque, so although he sees a big blob of something on the other side, he’s not sure what he’s looking at.

“No? I have no idea what’s going on.”

Amy smiles. “Go ahead then.”

And she leads him outside.

_I know you’ll keep me close to your heart and knowing that you saw me as i was brings me so much comfort._

“Oh.”

It mirrors the scene from Buckingham, except Alex is so much closer to it this time. Then it was Henry’s moment, a love letter from his country to tell him how much he meant to them. It’s Henry’s moment here too but as Alex steps away from the hospital and onto the street outside, past the police officers guarding the entry, they all turn to him, shocked gasps and sad smiles, his name and a hundred questions filling the air.

_I’m sorry i lied to you. Not only because you were right but because i wanted my last memory of you to be something simpler and your last memory of me devoid of pain._

“Alex! Alex!”

“Is the Prince okay?”

“How is Prince Henry?”

“He’s going to be fine, right?”

_So think of me as I will think of you, in fragile moments of perfection, in mornings spent bathed in golden sunlight, tinting your curls a softer brown within their loops._

Alex takes slow, careful steps forward, his hands coming around his midsection like he’s holding his pieces together in the face of this unexpected storm. He opens his mouth yet he can’t speak, his lips trembling, his eyes blown wide as they take in the marvel in front of him.

_Picture me in nights raw and shaken, in touches of comofrt and the quiet declarations of love, in the pieces of each other that we shared, every truth and evry secret every intimate moment that no one else could see but we never took for granted._

There’s a crowd outside the hospital and they’re clad in rainbow, clothes and flags and scarves and facepaint. Yellow t-shirts with his own immortalized words staring back at him, bringing to mind Henry’s last words. _We were history, love_.

_Think of me love between the words they tried to steal from us but never truly managed to take. Between statues and landmarks, in quiet halls of empty museums, where pieces of history stopped to watch as we took our place amongst them before we even knew what we were doing._

The sun is but a thin line on the horizon, the sky already draped in shades dark to mourn its absence. But they’re holding candles, tiny stars spread among them, washing their faces in a fragile glow as they smile encouragingly at him, defying the cold breeze of the London night.

The ones who have their hands free move gifts from the back to the front of the line, bringing them forth so Alex can take them where they need to go. Cards and stuffed toys and so, so many flowers, banners and signs full of love.

Alex doesn’t know how to respond but he steps between them, and by the way their smiles widen, he thinks maybe they get it.

_Whenever you’re lost, or you feel just a bit detached and out of place, know that I loved you with everything I had and I found my place with you by my side even when the rest of the worl_

He takes as many things as he can carry which means he doesn’t have enough hands to wipe at his tears. He smiles through them, lets people clap him on the shoulder or squeeze his arm under Amy’s careful watch. He promises he’s going to get everything, he’s going to send someone to carry everything he can’t fit so it reaches Henry. Henry who got hurt for the same thing that gathered these people here tonight.

_i love you_

_stay safe_

_it’ll be oka_

“Thank you. Thank you. He’s going to be so touched when he wakes up.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, if I wrote this chapter from Henry's POV, it would be a lot shorter. :P
> 
> Hope you enjoyed?? This was another long one, a little over 7k so please let me know what you thought!
> 
> Once again find me on tumblr @ saltfics ! Till next time~


	10. 6. 'I've got you. Just stay awake."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 of the interconnected chapters.
> 
> Prompts of the day:  
> ‘i’m sorry. i know it hurts. here, hold my hand.'  
> ‘i’ve got you. just stay awake. can you do that for me?'  
> 'wake up! wake up!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm going to update with shorter chapters because I'm too busy and it will take me too long to update otherwise.
> 
> Also me: *writes a 5.5k chapter* 
> 
> 11/10 truly
> 
> But I've at least clearly stopped caring about the order of the chapters. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The hospital is empty. Silence has spread over the old building, and all he can hear is the creaking of wood and pipes, an echoing _tap tap tap_ of a leak somewhere. Alex is running through the hallways, his heart all the way up his mouth, and maybe that’s why he can hear his heartbeat so loud in his ears. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he needs to get to Henry.

What if he’s gone too? Where would Alex go?

He pushes harder on his legs, his muscles stiff despite his adrenaline. He’s exhausted.

No. No. He lost him once. He can’t let them take him away again. For once, for _once_ he’ll keep his fucking promise and _protect_ him.

“Alex!”

He stops, skidding on the slippery floor.

His dad hurries to catch up to him and relief washes over him for a second until he grabs him by the shoulders and tries to lead him outside. “D-Dad?” he stammers, fear replacing the relief.

“Come on, we have to leave.”

“What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

“It’s not safe here, Alex! We need to leave. _Now._ ” His eyes are harsh, too harsh, and Alex tears his arm from his grip, taking a step backwards. “You promised me,” his dad reminds him. “You _promised_ you’d take care of yourself.”

“Where’s _Henry_?” Alex says, his voice breaking around the name. “I can’t go without him.”

“You’re my priority, Alex.”

“And he’s _mine_.” He shakes his head, takes another few steps back before sprinting off. “I’m sorry—I can’t leave him again.”

He makes it to Henry’s room with no further interruptions, though he swears he hears sobbing echoing down the hallway. Each time he tries to pinpoint where it’s coming from, it changes direction. He has to ignore it for now.

Alex hesitates outside the door for just a moment, taking a deep breath to swallow down some of the anxiety that’s stuffed like cotton in his lungs. It doesn’t work.

Henry is as he left him, trapped with too many tubes on a hospital bed but the sight of him there makes his knees tremble with relief. “Baby… Oh, thank you. You’re here,” Alex sighs, sinking into the closest chair. “The whole place is empty. I have no idea what’s going on. I won’t leave without you, though. I promise I won’t leave you.”

He slips his fingers between Henry’s, frowning at the feel of his skin, colder than he’s ever been before. “Sweetheart…” He rubs both his palms around one of his, hoping to transfer some of his warmth into him. “Hey…” His eyes study Henry’s face, ashen white, perfectly still. And he watches as his eyes blink open, the icy blue so pale it’s close to gray, the pink of his lips around the ventilator tinting into blue. “ _Henry_?” he gasps, overtaken by the sight of him awake.

Henry’s face scrunches up for the length of a breath, before his eyes roll to the back of his head, white slits left in their place.

“Henry!”

The heart monitor screeches to life, a ceaseless one-tone sound that doubles Alex’s heartbeat as if to make up for the lack it finds.

“No, no, no. No. No! Henry, no!” Alex jumps to his feet, hovering uselessly over him, listening to the cacophony of alarms around him with no idea how to stop them. “ _Baby_ ,” he sobs, the sound muffled by the hands that cover his mouth in horror. “You can’t do this to me. Please. Please. _Somebody help me_!” He screams towards the door.

But the hospital is empty.

“No, _no_ _…_ ” He chokes, crying so hard he’s coughing, doubling over until he buries his face on Henry’s abdomen, his tears soaking through the hospital gown. “No, you can’t… Stay with me… _Please._ ”

The machine doesn’t quiet down, doesn’t pick up a beat. It just shrills, the piercing sound carving at a spot between his ribs, straight into his heart. He’s going to throw up. He’s going to scream. His mind can’t process this reality, doesn’t know what orders to give his body so he thrashes, squirming, punching at the pillows around Henry but never dares to touch him with anything but the softest motions, his head still buried so he won’t look.

“It’ll be okay,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind him. Alex doesn’t have the energy to jolt.

Slowly, he lifts his head but keeps his eyes trained on Henry’s face, on his perfect fucking eyelashes fanning over the dark bruises under his eyes. Dread fills his stomach, for although he’s never heard this voice before, he knows exactly who’s behind him. He doesn’t turn to look. Instead, he lifts his trembling hands to Henry’s face, and holds him for as long as he can. “I love you,” he whispers.

“It’s fine,” the voice insists. “You’ll see him now.”

The last thing he hears is a shot.

Alex wakes up screaming.

The yell quickly breaks to quick, heavy, panting breaths, a hand pressed in front of his heart like he could ease his rapid beat by touch alone. Tears run thick down his cheeks, but he is already soaking wet from sweat anyway, dripping down his forehead, staining clothes and bedsheets. He can’t calm down.

“Amy!” he half-screams, half-sobs, bending over on himself. “Amy! Shaan!”

Within seconds, Amy has burst into his door, dressed in her pyjamas but every bit alert as she rushes to his bedside. “Alex. Alex, _breathe._ ” He shakes his head, his chest too tight to draw in any more air. “Come on, look at me. Look at me. There you go,” she says when Alex turns wide, pleading eyes her way. “Breathe. Count with me.”

It takes them a while, but they get him to calm down. He slumps forward, burying his face on her shoulder, ruining her shirt with his snot and tears and sweat. “I’m… I’m sorry… I…” He mumbles, too exhausted to even talk.

“It’s okay. I’m here to protect you, remember? As far as I’m concerned, this is part of the job.”

Alex tries at a smile. “You know that’s not true.”

With a sigh, he pushes himself away. Only then does he notice the second figure, hovering by his door.

“… Zahra?”

She’s in her nightclothes too, a silk scarf wrapped around her hair, and though she’s scowling, it doesn’t seem to be directed _at_ him, which is a first. “Shaan has a room in Henry’s apartments, remember? I’m using it. You’re not the only one who has people they need to support.” Alex tries for another smile, and though it’s weak, it sticks more this time. Zahra sighs. “Are you okay? Do you need someone to stay with you tonight?” His brows shoot all the way up to his hairline. “Not me, you fucking pain. We can get a guard to your door.”

“Yeah, because we’re so trusting of guards right now…” Alex mutters, curling in on himself. “I’m-I’m fine. It’s just…” He turns to Amy. “Can we go to the hospital?”

“ _Now_?” Zahra asks.

“Alex, you should get some rest.”

“Please, I won’t be able to sleep. I can get a cab or something, you don’t have to drive me, but I need to go. I’ll sleep there. On the chair, I don’t care. I never should have left.”

“You left because you’re even worse when you’re sleep-deprived _and_ useful to no one and there’s only one person allowed in the ICU anyway. Henry has other family too, remember?”

Alex deflates, fresh tears stinging at his eyes.

Zahra groans. “Call Princess Beatrice to double check that everything’s fine. And if nobody’s dy—” She cringes at her own choice of words, and tries again, “And if everything is, in fact, the same as it was two fucking hours ago when you left the hospital in the first place, we’ll go in the morning when you’ve gotten some goddamn sleep. Agreed?”

“Not really.”

“Diaz, I swear—”

“Okay, fine. But only because I feel bad I woke you up.”

“How fucking gracious of you. Goodnight.”

Alex doesn’t actually sleep. He tries, he does. But he can’t. He videocalls Bea, and there are tear stains on her cheeks, but she assures him everything is just as he left them. She asks him if he knows if Philip is there and waves the question off when Alex raises a brow at her.

Then he twists and turns for an hour before giving up.

Wandering around Kensington palace like a ghost is not the greatest past time, yet he can’t bring himself to stay in Henry’s room for long either, the coil around his chest tightening the longer he remains surrounded by his presence, knowing where Henry really is. So he puts on his coat and heads out into the night.

The London night shows no mercy on his lack of appropriate clothing. Within a few minutes, his cheeks start to sting, his hands are hidden deep within his pockets, and he contemplates the validity of his idea. He’s not even sure where exactly he’s wandered off to.

When he’s ready to admit he’s lost, in a part of the gardens he’s not sure he’s visited before, a voice calls out to him from above, and thank _fuck_ it’s a familiar one because who knows what he would have thought with the night he’s having.

“Alex? Are you all right?”

Alex lifts his gaze up to the second-floor window behind him to see Martha perched on the windowsill, wrapped in a silk robe and looking down at him with concern. He waves. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Not you, darling. I still have a toddler in the house, remember?”

His expression softens at the mention, a genuine smile rebelling against his stress. “How’s AC?”

“Would you… would you like to come upstairs?”

“No, no, I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Please,” Martha insists. “I assure you I’m very much awake and I would love to talk to you. We can go to the kitchen, find something sweet to eat?”

“Are Princesses allowed midnight snacks?” he jokes.

“You tell me.”

He laughs despite himself. “Wow, okay, I so deserved that.”

Martha comes down to unlock the door for him, still smirking politely and leaving him to wonder how the hell she manages to do that. He ponders sometimes what it might be like for her, to be the actual next Queen of England, her marriage to Philip so much different compared to Alex’s relationship with Henry. Not just because of the siblings’ personalities but because of their positions. The things that are expected of her. The rules she has to navigate.

Henry and Alex fled to the US and he never had to deal with most of that crap. What would he have done, he wonders, if Henry had actually been the next in line?

She surprises him by pulling him in a hug, her arms circling his neck for a few seconds before she steps back. Her eyes are softer than before. He realizes he’s never seen her without makeup on, with the dark tint under her eyes, the messy hair tied up in a bun already halfway undone. She smells like rosehip oil and maybe a bit of baby powder, and as she looks more like a mom than a Princess, her touch is so much more comforting for it.

“So why did AC wake you in the middle of the night anyway? I thought he’s past that stage.”

Martha frowns, tightening the folds of her robe around herself as she leads the way to the kitchen. “Nightmares. And the way we left Anmer so suddenly to come here didn’t seem to help him either.” Well, he can’t say he can’t relate to the little guy. “And you? Can’t sleep?”

“How can I?” he mutters. Martha staggers in her step, turning around to look at him. “I’ll be fine, honestly. It’s not me you need to worry about.”

“Oh, I assure you, darling, I worry about a lot of people right at this moment.”

Once they reach the kitchen, she pulls out a kettle, already filling it with water as she turns to him to ask. “Tea? Coffee? Do you want to join your nephew and drink warm milk?”

Alex’s heart clenches at the word she uses. Henry calls his nephew ‘theirs’ a lot. Martha calling her son _his_ is a whole other level. It ties him to her, to Henry’s family in a different, stronger way. “Tea is fine.” Her look of surprise makes him smile. “Henry got me used to the stuff. Not as good as coffee but… I-I feel like it now.”

“Of course, honey.”

The tea is good, though not as great as when Henry makes it. And yes, he’s biased. He’s earned it. Alex wraps his fingers around the steaming mug, letting the sting of the too hot ceramic wake him up. “At the risk of regretting this question, what else are you worried about? You said you worry about a lot of people. I mean, besides…” he trails off, swallowing hard.

“I do worry about Henry,” she says, casting her gaze to her lap. “So much. I don’t if they told you but I… I was the one who—when he got hurt in the music room, I was just coming in, looking for Philip and he was…” She shakes her head, bringing a finger to wipe carefully at her eyes. Alex’s gut twists at the reminder. He didn’t know that. “I-I know it’s not the same as what you and Pip must have seen, I know, and I cannot imagine—I keep remembering that scene in my head, you see. It refuses to leave. So I don’t want to know what’s happening in your and my husband’s heads right now.” Martha reaches out to him, removes one of his hands from the mug to take it in her own. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you…” He chokes out, weakly squeezing her hand. “By the way,” he says in an obvious attempt to redirect the conversation. “Do you know where Philip is? I think Bea’s looking for him.”

Her face pales, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly before she remembers herself and straightens up. “I’ve only seen Philip once since Henry got… taken,” she says so she doesn’t say he got shot. “He came to change his clothes because his jacket had blood on it.”

Alex cringes. That might have actually been his fault.

“But I haven’t seen him at all. I’m… I’m truly concerned about him, to be honest.”

“Wait—if he hasn’t been here and he hasn’t been to Henry’s room once, then where the fuck is he?”

Martha frowns, her lips parting in a half-formed word. Then realization flashes in her eyes and she looks away again. The hand that’s still holding on to Alex starts to tremble.

“Hey… What’s wrong?”

She takes a deep breath, composing herself once more. She knows how to do this with the ease and practice the rest of Henry’s family has. Has this only started when she started dating Philip? He really knows absolutely nothing about her, does he? “I think I know where he is,” she declares, giving him another short squeeze before she pulls away. “Listen, I cannot imagine how you feel. I’m beyond worried, about-about everything that’s going on. And it wasn’t even _my_ husband who got injured. But I’m scared about Henry and I’m worried about Philip and the fact that we can’t even trust our guards! I mean, what are we meant to do at this point?”

“You knew him? The guy?” He refuses to say his name. He remembers it but it’s not worth being remembered.

“Of course, I did. He was Philip’s equerry for years. Haven’t there been cases when Shaan has taken care of you instead? I… I let him near my _son_. _”_

A vile taste comes up the back of his throat at the thought, hot and uncomfortable. He tries to reassure her and tries twice as hard not to think about the toddler asleep a few rooms away. “Martha, come on… He wouldn’t hurt your son.”

“Why not? He hurt Philip’s little brother. What would stop him?”

“Yes, but Henry’s—But that man was—” He changed his phrasing because he would never dare blame Henry for this, yet he realizes now there’s no version of this sentence that makes sense. Martha is right. “They’ll find him,” he says instead. “Shaan won’t let him get away with it. Neither will Bea. Neither will I.” He attempts a smile, shaky though it may be. “And I think your husband will also back us up this once, use his evil powers for good. No offense,” he adds at her look.

“It’s fine. From you, I suppose he deserves that. Though… not what they’re saying about him right now.”

It takes a moment for Alex’s sleep deprived brain to recognize what she’s referring to. “Oh. That.” He remembers Bea’s offended face, the hurt that rippled through her as yet another layer of stress fell upon her shoulders, another brother to help, one much less likely to accept it too. “Look, Philip and I don’t really like each other but… that’s too much.”

“You think so too, right? You wouldn’t agree with them?” There’s too much hope in her eyes and Alex feels a prick of guilt. Did Philip tell her he half-heartedly accused him of the same thing once?

“Yeah, of course I do. I mean, he even helped me find him when I asked.” _A_ _sk_ is one way of putting it. “I know y’all take the press more seriously than you should but they’re just dumb conspiracy theories. Don’t think too much of it.”

“Oh, I don’t. But…” She takes a sip of her tea, peering at Alex with an inquiring look over the rim. “I’m glad you think so,” she says, placing the cup back on its plate. “Because I need you to do me a favor.”

Two minutes later, he is prepared to start yelling at yet another member of the royal family when Martha, who clearly married Philip because she’s also the devil, says this:

“Think of it this way, darling. If you do this now, it will be one less thing for Henry to be burdened with when he wakes up.”

Damn her.

Alex still refuses to sleep so Zahra eventually relents and lets him go to the hospital.

The two of them, along with Amy, arrive there thirty minutes later, steaming cups of coffee in their hands. Alex is wearing one of Henry’s Oxford sweatshirts, and it’s just big enough on him. Though worn, the fabric is still soft and it smells like him. As Alex settles down on the waiting room chair, waiting for Bea to exit the room, he buries his face in his hands, knees drawn close to his chest, and soaks in the feeling of it against his skin.

There’s still his promise to Martha to deal with but that’s not going to happen before his second coffee. So he settles, wondering if it’s early enough in London for it to be acceptably late in the US. He’s not sure he wants to talk to anyone. He knows she won’t force him.

But a familiar figure catches sight of him and Alex braces himself for his approach. When did seeing his friends become so dreadful? This big cloud of grief has wrapped itself around them and every interaction is charged and too heavy; it takes something out of them. They’re there for each other, a touch here, a hug there, holding hands and sleeping on the other’s shoulders, but it hurts to talk because there’s not much to say other than what’s happening, and it’s so _exhausting_ to talk about their pain when they keep thinking of each other’s grief as bigger, different, more deserving of the attention. If… If things go… _bad_ , then it might be more than Henry that they’ll lose.

He won’t think about that yet. Or ever.

Pez comes to take a seat next to him. His shoulders are slumped, his head falling back to rest against the wall, stray curls of hair falling in front of his eyes.

Alex understands the sentiment, but it still hurts to see.

“Hey, babe. When did you come back?”

“Like ten minutes ago. Couldn’t sleep. Did you manage to get in? I feel like Bea and I have been hogging the room, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes drift to Alex’s sweatshirt and a weak smile twists the edges of his lips. “It’s the last thing you need to worry about right now, darling. Besides, I got in a while ago, when…” He closes his eyes at the memory, crinkles forming on his skin. “When Bea had to drag Catherine out of here. She told me to stay, so I saw my chance and took it.”

“How-how is Catherine?”

Pez blinks his eyes open again but he doesn’t turn to meet Alex’s gaze. Instead, he stares into nothing ahead of him, frowning slightly at a memory Alex doesn’t want to reach. “Destroyed. But I can’t imagine you’re much better.”

Alex grips back tightly. “I—” _I saw him dying in my sleep._ “Well, I—” _I woke up screaming for help._ “No. I…” He takes a short, gasping breath and he has to change the subject, for he doesn’t know what to do if he utters what he really thinks, if he gives life and voice into the words he can’t admit. “I’m not. Are you? I know you guys are close, I know you care for him a lot.”

“That might be the biggest understatement you’ve said since you dared say that you and Henry were just ‘friends with blowjobs’.”

Alex groans. “Oh, _come on_.”

Pez grins, even if it’s subdued, raising an eyebrow in a merciless challenge. “He tells me things, Alexander.”

As great as it is to see Pez smile, realization sobers Alex up quickly. “And that comment—it hurt him, didn’t it?”

“Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t think of all the little hurts you’ve given each other. Think of how much you love him. How irrevocably he loves you.” _On purpose,_ Alex thinks with a pang to his chest, and nods. “And if you want to talk about hurt… how about you let Auntie Pezza tell you a story?”

 _Does it have a happy ending_ , he wants to ask but he looks around the hospital room and he knows he’ll hate the answer. Still, he doesn’t want to stop Pez from saying what he wants to let out, so he shifts his attention towards him, squeezing his arm once for comfort.

“Henry and I were schoolmates, all the way back in Eton. We were thirteen when we met _._ And I could talk for hours about how his Royally _Queer_ Highness walked in that classroom and immediately hyperfocused on the one kid who looked the gayest and played his odds—”

“Successfully,” Alex points out, finding himself smiling at the thought.

“Oh, yes. I’ll grant him that much. Even then, it took a while to crack that kid open, you know. It was hard for him, I think, to trust people. He didn’t know who to trust with his secrets, when everyone knew his name, and had a very specific image of who he was meant to be. I think it made him seem snobbish, though he was far from that, as you well know.”

Alex cringes. He had once thought the very same thing. What a colossal fucking idiot he had been.

“And here’s what you must know already but I can absolutely confirm it for you with just a dose of hypocrisy: rich kids are mean. And there was this boy once, I think we were around sixteen—or was it fifteen? There was this one boy, who really had no fear or any working brain cells, if you ask me. He called him names. You know the ones. Mocking him for ‘acting gay’,” he says, complete with a pointed roll of his eyes. “He didn’t actually know anything; he was just being a little prick. Henry, though, he was terrified. What if he knew? What would he do if his family found out?” Pez looks over at him, smiling sadly, his brows furrowed in pain. “So, I did what I always did. I took the attention from him. I defended him the next time they dared bother him and I kept it up, stealing the attention and redirecting their spite. I didn’t care. I didn’t. I think. It’s hard to be sure you remember it correctly now, and not… rose-tinting everything. Maybe I hated it. I probably did a bit. But Henry was more scared than I was, and his family was so much scarier than mine.”

“But his dad…” Alex interjects. “I thought it got a lot worse after his dad died?”

“It was better then,” he nods, “But he still had an impossible weight to carry from his name, darling. And he couldn’t gather the courage to try yet.”

“Still… I can’t believe he let you take the fall for it.”

Pez smiles. “Oh, he didn’t. He tolerated it for like a month and then when that same asshole—what was his name? He was literally _that_ unimportant for the rest of his life—anyway, when he took it too far, Henry finally decided that the odds of him getting truly scolded were… quite low. So he punched him.”

“ _No_.”

“Yes. He was _astonishingly_ bad at it too; I think he hurt himself doing it. That’s probably when Shaan decided to teach him.”

“That bastard told me he had never punched anyone before!”

“Perhaps he meant successfully.” Pez leans back in his seat, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes.

His expression falls.

“But, you see…” Alex can see the tears gathering, glimmering under the white light. “I scolded him. He didn’t need to do that. I could do that much for him. And I knew what I was doing reminded him sometimes. That it's okay to be who you want to be, even if you're not quite there yet. I _told him_ —” The first tears slip as his voice cracks. He makes no move to wipe them away."If anyone tries to hurt you for who you are, I’ll be there, obnoxiously loud and unapologetic. I have your back."

“Pez—”

“I know I can’t do much when it’s tabloids after you.”

“I don’t know. Those _Fuck The Daily Mail_ earrings were amazing.”

Pez chokes out a laugh through his tears. “Why, thank you. They were custom-made,” he jokes. For a moment Alex almost believes he’s managed to distract him. “This was one man, Alex. One single bloody arsehole. I could have stopped one man.”

“Pez, come on…” Alex tries. He doesn’t realize he’s started crying until he has to sniffle. “You couldn’t have… Shaan didn’t know.” _I was right there and I couldn_ _’t help him,_ he wants to say but doesn’t, for if he redirects the attention on him now, Pez could switch the subject and keep this all bottled up again. “Shaan couldn’t stop this and he’s been doing it for years.”

Pez leans forward, burying his face in his hands. “I know, I know. But it’s _hard_. Seeing him like this. He’s always been there. _Always_. Since we were little. What would I do if he—”

“He-he won’t.”

“Do _you_ believe it when they tell you that?” he argues, shifting his head just enough to peak at Alex from the side.

Alex’s breath catches in his throat and he replies, as honest as he’s ever been, even if it burns his throat on the way out. “I… don’t have another choice.”

“He’s a good person. He tries so hard.”

Something snaps in Alex, and though he and Pez have never been the same kind of close as everyone else has been, not without some kind of buffer between them, Alex pushes his chair closer and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in his shoulder.

He understands now why everyone kept repeating the same damn thing to him. _It_ _’ll be fine_ and _he_ _’ll make it_ and all the optimistic crap no one could guarantee. Because there’s nothing else he can say. He can’t say it won’t be fine. Not when the mere thought of the possibility hacks and breaks people into pieces.

All the pieces Henry has taken, all the pieces of himself he’s given them, they’ll crumble in his absence.

And Henry has given them so much.

Alex tightens his grip on the fabric of Pez’s jacket, and looks for faith in him he hasn’t thought of in earnest for years now. He calls upon deities and saints, calls with honest hope upon the names he’s taken in vain so many times before. And he prays with the desperation of a man dying, and the hope of a child who doesn’t know any better than to wish, that they won’t take Henry away from him, because he can’t give them that much and survive it.

They stay like this for a long time. Long enough for Alex to think he’s fallen asleep because what other explanation is there for his nightmares to reach him there?

A screeching, violent sound pierces his ears, and straight through his heart.

Pez jumps to his feet when the alarm of a too fast heart-monitor reaches them all the way outside the room.

But Alex can’t move. He hears the door burst open. He hears Bea’s frantic scream ( _can we get some help in here?!)_ and Shaan’s rushing footsteps to go fetch the doctor himself.

Alex cannot fucking move.

His heart is beating fast enough to match the pace of the too-quick beats of the machine. He moans, trying to control his breathing, as fractured pieces of his dream flash in his mind, too similar to the nightmare unraveling around him.

The screeching sound, his desperate screams.

Henry’s too cold hands. Too pale eyes. Too still.

Alex muffles a sob with his hands. “Wake up,” he whispers to himself. “Wake up! Wake up!”

He needs to move.

He doesn’t want to see what’s happening in Henry’s room.

If something goes wrong, he will never forgive himself for not being in there with him.

Strong hands grab one of his arms to lift him to his feet. He looks up with wide eyes to see Zahra there, pulling him forward. Her eyes are narrowed, her lips pressed into a line, but she nods at him once before she pushes him through the door.

Alex’s heart climbs up to his throat and he chokes on it, his hands flying to the front of his mouth. “ _Henry?_ ”

Bea is on her knees next to him, tears in her eyes, stroking back his hair, whispering sweet nothings to keep him calm. “Shush, it’s okay, darling. You’re fine. You’re going to be okay. Everyone is all right. I promise.”

Henry’s eyes are open and wide and glimmering with tears, horror twisting his features into a mask of pain. The ventilator is still stuck in his mouth, and _shit_ , that must be what’s hurting him so.

Alex doesn’t feel his legs push him forward but the next thing he knows he’s standing next to Bea, and Henry’s eyes are on him, and Alex doubles over with the weight of his relief.

“ _Baby_ …” he gasps. He takes his hand, cupping it with both of his own. He brings it to his lips, kissing each knuckle, stroking his palm, worshiping every inch of his skin he can touch, even if it’s not much. “I’ve got you,” he promises. There’s nothing he can do for Henry but stay by his side, yet seeing his gaze steady on him, feeling his fingers clutch weakly back at him, he realizes that maybe a presence is a lot more than he ever gave it credit for. “Just stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

Henry looks at him, brows furrowed in pain but with eyes so _soft_ locked with his.

Alex can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to his forehead, smoothing some of the wrinkles there. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, a wet, trembling smile on his lips. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. Here, hold my hand.”

The doctor rushes in just as Henry laces their fingers together. His pulse has steadied into a stubborn beat and his hand is warm and alive in his hold. Alex feels him squeeze when the doctor starts to talk to him, and that little gesture, for all its weakness, is strong enough to break the heavy _something_ that’s been lodged in Alex’s chest.

Finally, Henry lets him breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot?
> 
> This was a pain to edit, and I did this instead of this very urgent assignment, so please consider saying hi before you leave ^^; Ofc, as always, find me on tumblr @ saltfics!
> 
> P.S.: The 'Fuck The Daily Mail' earrings are real. Author Melinda Salisbury (Hold Back The Tide is great btw) posted them on her instagram.  
> P.S.2: AC is from the in-white universe as I've mentioned the fics here unless stated otherwise are interconnected. The mention of Henry punching someone is also from there.


	11. 7. 'are those bandages?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: 
> 
> 'are those bandages?'  
> 'I dont feel sorry for you'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a trip, y'all.
> 
> Also if you're seeing this message, I have, as of now, not properly edited this chapter because it's late and I'm exhausted and I have class in the morning. I will fix it sometime tomorrow so if you're not okay with 200 typos per chapter, please come back later.

Henry wakes up with the confusion and exhaustion reserved mostly for the consequences of bad choices. Except he doesn’t remember making said choices. He doesn’t remember much of anything at all. Henry wakes up in his bed in Kensington palace, alone, with no idea of how he got there, and for one terrifying moment, he thinks that maybe the past few years of his life have been nothing but a dream and all he’s achieved with his too vibrant daydreams is to break his heart with the first morning light.

Then Alex’s head peeks in from the bathroom door and he has to berate himself from his absurd pessimism.

“Hey, you’re finally up,” Alex grins, coming into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. “You’re not usually one to oversleep.”

Henry breathes a sigh of relief, then frowns when his chest catches at the motion. What the hell happened last night? “Morning,” he smiles at him anyway, his face still half-buried on the pillow.

Alex comes over and dives in for a kiss. “I love you but you have to get dressed. We need to go.” He laughs when Henry groans and the sound is so sweet to his ears it manages to wake him up.

“Hey, love? I’m having the oddest headache,” he admits, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “Please remind me, why are we here?”

Alex frowns. “Here, at home?”

“At home? In my rooms, in England?”

His frown deepens, and he climbs up on the bed with him, watching him with concern. “What’s wrong with you today, darling?”

A surprised laugh slips from his lips, until genuine surprise is reflected back in Alex’s face like he doesn’t understand. “ _Alex_ ,” he says, bewildered, to no avail. “Since when do you call me ‘darling’?”

“Hen, are you feeling all right?” Alex strokes Henry’s hair back from his face, letting his hand linger on the side of his cheek as if to check his temperature. “Do you want to cancel?”

Fully aware that he’s not helping his case, Henry can’t help but ask, “Cancel- cancel what?”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m calling your family. Then maybe a doctor.”

Alex goes to move but Henry takes his hands in his and keeps him close. “No, no, love, I’m fine. I feel fine. Just… a bit confused. Did something weird happen last night? Were we… out?”

“No, it was just a normal night in—do you _not remember last night?_ _”_

Henry lets his head fall in his hands, tugging at the tips of his hair. The truth is, he doesn’t remember much at all. Not last night, not last week. He doesn’t remember how they got here, nor why. “I’m sure it’s just exhaustion.” He smiles with much more confidence than he ought to. “I’m certain I’ll feel better when I’m a tad more awake,” he lies and forces himself to believe it along with Alex.

It turns out what Alex wanted to cancel was lunch with his family, so Henry relaxes on their way to Anmer Hall where apparently Philip and Martha are hosting them today. For some reason. At least he gets to see his nephew, and more importantly, he won’t need to think too hard during their lunch date.

London at least, is unchanged, even if his confusion slips into the streets around him, leaving an air of uncertainty to linger in every corner. Alex holds his hand through the entire car ride there, and it helps, even if Henry tries hard not to show how disturbed he is.

Anmer is beautiful in the spring, despite how unbearably large it is, though compared to Kensington, it’s downright modest. He ignores the little voice in the back of his head that tells him he’s not actually sure what month it is. What the bloody hell did he do the night before? The lapses in his memory are scary on their own but more disconcerting is the fact that Alex also has no idea of anything out of the ordinary happening.

“Last chance to bail,” Alex says before he knocks on the door, squeezing his hand that he let go for only as long as it took him to round the car and get to Henry’s side. “We can still go home, let you get some more rest.”

“I’m fine,” he lies, trying for a smile he’s surprised it manages to semi-convince Alex.

“Are you sure? You really worried me this morning, darling.”

There’s the _darling_ again. Henry’s back straightens, his muscles tensing into knots as the sense of wrongness that’s been covering him all day settles a layer deeper, burrowing under his skin. Nevertheless, he reassures him once more that he is, in fact, fine (using the term very loosely) and rings the doorbell in his place, to avoid arguing about it any more.

If he’s being honest, he does not feel up to dealing with his family right now but he’s already worried Alex enough so maybe the rest of them could put together some of the pieces he’s missing.

It’s Bea that opens the door and she pulls him into a deep hug. The familiar scent of perfume on her clothes loosens some of the tension on his back, lets him melt into her arms for a second too long. When she pulls away, she keeps her hands on his waist, tilting her head as she studies him. “Are you okay, Hen? You’re looking a little pale.”

Alex shoots him a quick look but Henry waves them both off with a smile. He’s about to repeat for the hundredth time how fine he is, when a rush of tiny footsteps and a voice clearer than he remembers shatters any illusion that everything will go back to normal soon.

“Uncle Henry!”

Henry freezes, his mouth parting in a question he’s not sure how to ask. The child that runs up to him is not a toddler. Bouncy blond curls frame his face, and piercing blue eyes so similar to his own stare up at Henry with adoration. But he’s so _old,_ at least four-years-old.

Has he… forgotten the past couple of years of his life? Is this what’s going on here? Because he might be confused about a lot of things, but his nephew was not this old when he last saw him.

When Henry doesn’t react to his presence, Arty frowns, a pout forming on lips that still stick out slightly. “Up?” he asks, a little hesitant at the rejection.

Alex nudges at him.

“Yes, right, of course,” Henry scrambles to get his head back in place. Putting his shock aside, he takes the child in his arms. Arty grins at him, wrapping his small hands around his neck and Henry holds him a bit tighter at that, trying to let the warmth of the small person against him calm his racing heart.

Martha walks over to them, still at the hallway, shaking her head with a smile. “Christian, leave your uncles a moment to breathe.”

He knows the question is wrong before it even leaves his mouth yet he can’t stop the words from tumbling out, the confusion that hasn’t stopped building in him searching for the least painful outlet to lift some of the weight off him. “Since when do you call him Christian?”

“Henry…” Alex, who already knows something is up with him today, gapes at him. His gaze shifts between Henry and the rest of the family, no doubt wondering if he should say something.

Henry shakes his head at him.

Bea narrows her eyes at them. “Since… always? That’s his name. What did you think we called him?”

“His- his other name?”

Martha stops at the doorway, leaning against the frame as she too studies him for any signs of why he’s behaving this way. “I know your grandmother calls him Frederick because she’s fond of it, _and because she doesn_ _’t care what I think,_ ” she adds in a quieter voice, rolling her eyes, “but we’ve always called him Christian, honey. Are you all right?”

Christian… Frederick? No, no. They named their kid after Dad. Alex keeps calling him AC, keeps joking that they should have given him a third name so their initials would match—Henry can’t be _wrong_ about this.

With careful movements, he sets the child back down, failing to reassure him when he turns big eyes at him, full of the same confusion that plagues Henry now, except there’s innocence in his where Henry has only horror. “What’s wrong?” Ar— _Christian?_ —asks, tugging at the edge of Henry’s shirt.

The confusion finally overflows, rushing into the creases of his mind, filling his head with noise he can’t think through. It sparks the beginning of panic, pushing his breathing out of rhythm. He lets out the smallest of gasps and his breaths catch along with his words. _What is happening? What_ _’s wrong with me?_

“Hen? Henry, are you okay?” Alex asks, placing a steadying hand on his back. It helps but not enough. The room is spinning.

Bea takes his arm and guides him forward, deeper into the house, as Martha picks up her son herself, taking him out of their way. “Hey, let’s get you sitting down, okay?” Bea says, and though her tone is light, there’s a tremble in her voice he hates having put there. “What happened?”

“I just—I clearly remember Pip naming him-naming him after Dad.”

“What? No. I mean, Pip asked but he said they didn’t have to.”

“Who did? What are you talking about?”

They lead him to one of the sitting rooms, where his mom is talking to Philip, their conversation more animated than he’s seen it in years. She takes one look at him over Philip’s shoulder and rushes towards them, hovering in front of him. “My love, what happened?”

“I’m-I’m okay. Just a bit… light-headed, that’s all,” he lies again in hopes of sparing her the worry he’s been giving so freely today. He lets them push him down into the nearest couch, hoping whatever expression he’s wearing it’s somewhat reassuring.

Philip comes up behind her and scowls at him in a manner too soft to be anything but concern. There’s something different about the way his brother looks; with his world shifting pieces around him it’s the last thing he can focus on for long enough to notice.

“Do we need to call a doctor?” he asks, looking over to Bea, then Alex, jostling another piece out of place in the process.

Henry swallows down a groan as the strain on his mind gives life to a proper headache, pressing without mercy on the spot between his brows. He fights the pained expression off his face. “No, no, please. There’s-there’s no need for that.”

“ _Henry_ ,” Alex warns.

“Henry?” Another voice calls from the next room. “Is that you?”

Whatever self-control he has, it lasts for as long as it takes him to lift his head towards the door where the owner of the voice emerges, a large smile in his face to be wiped away at the sight of Henry like this.

It lasts for long enough to bring a trembling hand to the front of his mouth that still doesn’t manage to cover the gut-wrenching sob that climbs up his chest to tear at his throat, breaking his heart into a million pieces on the way.

“D-D-Dad?”

His dad— _his dad, his dad, his dad—_ closes the distance between them and kneels in front of him like he used to when Henry was a child and he needed to tell him something important. “Henry?” he asks, gaping at the agony that’s taken over him, spilling out in endless trails of tears and sobs that steal the last of his breath until he’s gasping. “Hey, _hey._ What’s the matter? Talk to me.”

But he can’t, he _can_ _’t_ , so he grasps the front of his dad’s shirt and pulls him forward, then buries his face in his shirt. His head is against his chest and he can hear the heartbeat loud and clear in his ears, until he sobs harder, falling apart in arms he knows could always catch him. And for a moment he doesn’t _care_ why he’s here or what is happening or why his brain is all scrambled up, because he wants this, he wants to take this and keep it, this reality presented to him, no matter the cost. “Henry… Come on, hey, hush… You’ll be all right. Whatever it is, we’ll go through this together. Okay?”

Henry holds him closer and closer still, and for better or for worse, he believes him.

He wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later, to two inquiring blue eyes staring at him. After he cried himself out earlier, and Alex tattled on him about being out of it all morning, his family collectively forced him to get some rest in a spare bedroom.

The curtains are drawn but a small slither of light peeks in through a slit, casting amber tones against the shadows of the room. The duvet still holds the faint scent of dust yet Henry buries himself deeper into the pillow, even as he smiles at his visitor. “Hey,” he mumbles, reaching out to ruffle already messy golden curls. He pushes himself up to his elbows and pokes at the edge of his nephew’s sad pout. “What’s going on?”

Arty— _Christian_ climbs up on the bed and shuffles closer to him. grabbing at his shirt. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, love, I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” He sits up fully and opens his arms in an offering Christian takes without a second thought. The child climbs in his lap, smiling as he presses his cheek against the soft fabric of Henry’s sweater.

“No. But you were very very sad.” He smiles when Henry presses a kiss to his hair, tightening his hold.

“I’m all right, I promise.”

“Did grandpa do something wrong? He hurt you?”

“No. _No_. Not at all. Your- your grandfather is… wonderful,” Henry chokes out past the lump in his throat. He closes his eyes to take a deep breath, unwilling to cry in front of the child again. “He’s amazing, you’re… you’re so lucky to have met him.” The words let loose a truth he never allowed himself to consider, and it snaps the last of his composure. “Hey, love. Can you go find your mum so I can go to the loo for a moment?”

“Can I play with Uncle Alex?”

“I’m sure he would love that.”

As soon as Christian is not on him anymore, Henry bolts for the toilet, locking the door behind him. He sinks down on the floor, his knees tucked close to his chest and his head in hands. All the thoughts he kept trying to bury, all the terrible truths and fantasies alike that he only let unravel on the worst of his days, they tumble out of him now in merciless lashes of emotion that he doesn’t know how to process, not in this reality that’s so unlike anything he knows.

But he has thought of it before, how Arthur would never meet his namesake, how his dad would never meet his grandchildren. How he wouldn’t be there to guide Henry when he and Alex had their own kids, to tell Henry he was at least half as good of a father as he was.

He doesn’t understand how he got here. It’s too real, and he can’t wake up from it. Is this a dream? Or was the reality where his dad was dead the nightmare, and he’s only now waking up?

A knock on the door makes him jump. He stumbles to his feet and towards the sink, wiping at his face. “One moment, please!”

“Henry?” Alex’s voice comes from the other side. “Darling, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine.”

“You sound like you’re crying.”

He splashes some water on his face, before unlocking the door for him. No matter how bad he feels, he promised long ago never to lock Alex out. “I’ve just had the most bizarre, the longest day, love.”

Alex takes a step forward to wrap his arms around Henry’s waist. “Do you want to go home?”

Henry narrows his eyes at the word. “Can you answer a few questions for me, and promise not to ask me why I’m asking?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do we… live here? In England?”

“Henry.”

“Alex, please. Do we live in my old rooms?”

Alex’s expression pinches but he nods. “Where else would we live?”

“What about New York?” Henry asks, running a hand through his hair.

Alex _flinches_ at the mention, his back straightening in response. “New York? Henry, we stayed in New York for, like, a year before we moved here. It was _your_ decision.”

“Mine?” he repeats, hating the way the word tastes on his tongue, matching the almost accusatory tone Alex used. “What about law school?”

“I transferred here.”

“But that would be…” Henry frowns, rubbing against the headache that’s building up again. “That would be British law, wouldn’t it? Why would you—”

Alex’s hands slip from him, and he feels the loss like someone tore out a piece of him. “Yeah, well, we ended up living here, didn’t we? What else was I going to do?”

“Wait. _Wait_. Did we… decide on this? Together?”

“Well, you didn’t want to leave your family. I mean, neither did I, but you know, you’re, like, the _prince_ , and we had to compromise so…” Alex sighs, taking another step towards the exit. “Why are you bringing this up again, Henry? It is what it is. I told you I’m fine with it.”

Henry is gaping at him, unsure of what to say. He can’t believe he would… “Alex, I—”

“Look, you’re obviously not feeling well, so can we just go home?”

Without another acceptable option in mind, Henry nods, then follows him out of the room and into the hall. They say quick goodbyes to his family, though Henry freezes again when his dad hugs him goodbye.

“Call me tomorrow. Okay, Hen? We’ll talk about whatever you want,” his dad says when he pulls back, squeezing his shoulders.

Henry wants to melt in his embrace but Alex’s words are still loud in his ears. Instead, he squeezes back once, and tells him the only thing he knows he’ll regret not saying. “Dad? If I… If I’m not here tomorrow, you know how much I love you, right?”

His dad’s expression crumbles into open-mouth shock, his brows furrowing in concern that sets deep into his age lines. “Why wouldn’t you be? Henry, are you all right?”

He forces himself to smile and it comes easier and harder all the same when he looks at his father’s familiar face. “I’m all right. I promise. Just… a lot going on. But I wanted you to know that. I love you, Dad. So, so much.”

“I love you too, Henry. Take care of yourself, okay? You don’t want to aggravate those wounds.”

He’s already halfway back to Kensington by the time he realises he has no idea what his father meant by that.

He’s still there the next day. And the day after that. And the one after _that_. He stays there for so long he starts to believe that maybe he is confused, or sick, or injured and he’s just now clawing his way out of a nightmare where he was so convinced his father was dead. Alex even takes him to a doctor that day, who then recommends a psychologist, though in the end they settle in weekly appointments and an official diagnosis of confusion due to extreme exhaustion. It forces him to rest which is both a blessing and a curse at the same time, as he’s spared from navigating a life he doesn’t understand but also robbed of a chance to grasp it.

Even so, his dad comes visit him every day at his insistence and he finally has the chance to tell him _so_ many things. Retell some of them, as it turns out. And it’s hard to be too concerned about what he knows and what he doesn’t when he feels his father’s steady presence next to him, when he smiles at him with love in his eyes, the laughter lines on his face deeper than he remembered them. Henry drowns in the scent of his cologne when they hug and he thinks this _has_ to be real, for he knows he had forgotten what his dad smelt like before. The realisation had broken him once so he reveled in the knowledge now.

To his surprise, his dad is not the only one who visits him often. Bea stops by more than a couple of times, but also so does Philip. In this peculiar reality he woke up to, apparently they get along. In fact, when Henry makes a comment that visiting him this often won’t suddenly make everything better, Philip seems confused, then _hurt_ at his explanation, the emotion painted across his face in bold strokes he’s never seen before. Despite his every instinct when it comes to his brother, Henry apologises and later that night, he finds out from Alex that Philip actually supported them when their relationship became public.

Henry gives up trying to understand what’s happening to him after that.

Still, one day, as they’re laying in bed in the morning and Alex looks resplendent outlined in the first light, Henry sighs and he can’t help but ask, “Am I dead? Is that what’s happening here? Is this… heaven?”

Alex huffs, his eyes droopy with sleep. “What are you talking about, Hen?”

“It’s… so perfect. And I cannot understand it.”

Alex laces their fingers together. “You deserve perfect things.” Then he grins, shifting on the bed and closer towards Henry. “Why don’t I prove to you how alive you are?”

It doesn’t do much to convince him he’s not in paradise, but he enjoys it nonetheless.

It takes three more days for the glass to shatter, taking the illusion down with it.

Sunday brunches with his family are a tradition he never imagined he would like. Henry is in the middle of getting dressed, pleased to discover his favourite sweater in his wardrobe; at least it’s familiar. A photo of him and Pez from Eton is missing from his desk, so he turns around to ask. “Hey, where is Pez these days? I feel like I haven’t seen him in forever.” It’s then that he realises he hasn’t seen his phone in days.

Alex pauses, his shirt only half-buttoned to look at him. “Who?”

The illusion cracks, leaving a ringing sound in his ears. “Pez?” he repeats again, unsure of how to describe him to _Alex_. “My-my best friend?” he tries though he falls so short of the truth. “Alex, come on.”

Alex is silent. He crosses the room to kneel in front of him, taking Henry’s hands in his own before he speaks. “Baby, I thought we were past the confusion. What are you talking about?” he asks, running a hand through Henry’s hair. “I’ve never met a Pez, Henry. You don’t really have any other friends apart from your siblings.”

Henry shakes his head, the tiniest movement of his head, as he mumbles a denial his throat is too tight to let out. His eyes are stinging, and he’s glad he’s sitting down because he’s so so heavy out of the sudden.

“Darling, Henry, hey. No, no, hey, it’s okay. Talk to me.”

“You-you’ve met Pez, Alex. There’s no way…” He gasps, wiping at his tears.

Alex’s expression crumbles in sympathy. “Baby, I…” His face lights up with recognition, and for a terrible moment, Henry believes everything will work out. “Wait, do you mean that old classmate of yours? Percy Okonjo?”

“ _Yes._ _”_

“Henry, he’s… he’s just an old classmate of yours? You mentioned him in passing…maybe _once_? You donated an exorbitant amount of money to his charity last year. You barely know each other. Where is all this coming from?”

An overwhelming sense of loss crashes into him and he doubles over, pushing his head between his legs to make the world stop tilting out of place. He moans, a low sound that breaks as his breaths comes too short.

“Henry. _Henry_ , hey, breathe. Why are you so upset? What is going on?”

“I can’t do this. Not like this.” He allows Alex to tilt his head upward but he discards all the empty comforts, too shallow to fill all the empty space inside him where all the love for his best friend took up space. “If this is a dream, I’m done. I want to wake up. It’s over.”

“It’s not a dream, Hen. You’re here. You’re here with me.” He takes Henry’s hand and places it on his own chest, his heartbeat loud and strong. “I’m here. _You_ _’re_ here. I don’t know what’s going on with you, why you remember things like this but we’ll figure it out together, all right?” He pulls Henry into his arms, his head buried in his chest, and presses a kiss into his hair. “We’ll be okay. I love you. We’ll figure it out.”

And Henry grasps at the back of Alex’s shirt but all he can think right then is, _You loved me there too._

Henry manages to calm down enough to convince Alex to go to the brunch, anyway. Even if his heart still aches, and there’s a terrible knot in his chest that hasn’t loosened up. They head to his mother’s apartments this week—his _parents_ _’_ apartments, he keeps having to remind himself.

“Good morning, my boys,” Mum greets them at the door, wrapping them both in a joint hug. “We’re still waiting for your sister. Martha, Christian and your dad are in the sitting room and Philip is… upstairs, I think? He’s sorting something out with security. Come on in.”

Henry trips over a thought. Something itches in the back of his head. “… Security?”

“Yes, with the equerry… What’s the matter, dear?”

Ignoring his mother’s perplexed look, he excuses himself and goes to find his brother. He can’t pinpoint it exactly, but he feels like the answers he’s looking for are just out of his reach. He waves off his father’s calls for the first time since he got there, and he walks up the stairs, his heart climbing up his throat with every step. “Pip?” he calls out, plagued with the absurd feeling of being a part of something horrifying.

“In here, Henry!” his brother replies from two rooms ahead.

Before he can move towards it, a whirlwind of footsteps rushes up the steps to meet him, clumsy and out of pace. “Uncle Henry?” a high-pitched voice asks, sweet and full of endless excitement. Christian scrambles up the last of the steps, one hand already outstretched towards him.

“Hi, love,” Henry sighs fondly, taking the small hand in his own. “I just need to talk to your Dad for a second, all right? Let’s go find your Dad.”

Philip finds them first. The door opens ahead of them and his brother comes out, flanked by a man that’s as familiar as he is a stranger and when he nods at Henry, it sends the rest of the illusion shattering down like a waterfall.

“Emy!” Christian grins and he tries to rush forward but Henry tightens his hold on him, keeping him by his side. “What’s wrong?” the boy asks, looking up at him.

“Stay away from him,” Henry says, taking a step forward and to the side, keeping Christian halfway hidden by his leg.

Emory Owens is standing across from him, his head tilted like he doesn’t understand what Henry could possibly have against him. He’s standing a step behind Philip, attentive, protective, the way Shaan stands for him, and no matter what his feelings for Philip may be, he wants to wrench that terrible man away from his brother’s side.

More footsteps come up the stairs. Henry can’t take his eyes off of that man, lost in all he can’t figure out, but a memory creeps to the back of his mind and he’s determined to grasp it.

“Henry?” Alex asks, coming up beside him. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

And Henry… Henry finally thinks he understands.

“I remember you—I remember now. You-you…” His chest seizes up, his breaths coming too short, yet he waves his family away. With trembling hands, he unbuttons his shirt and for the first time in the weeks he’s been here, he looks like he’s supposed to.

“ _Baby_ ,” Alex gasps, torn between wanting to back away in shock and hug him, so he makes a weird half-step back and forth, going nowhere. “Are those bandages?”

His chest is littered with bruises, a tapestry of blues and reds and purples that travels around his back and down his stomach, worsening at his ribs. And a crispy white bandage, so stark against the bruising is wrapped around his midsection, thicker at his side. Henry presses a hand on it, and when he pulls back a stain of crimson blossoms along with memories his mind fought so hard to keep away.

Sudden, white-hot pain washes over him, and he screams, falling to his knees. His hands press against the wound again but they can’t stop the blood that’s soaking through it, down his clothes and onto the carpet. He remembers the staircase, he remembers the floor of their apartment in New York, and the cold asphalt where he held on to Alex with all he had left to give, even if it wasn’t much.

A pair of hands cup his face, touching him like he’s about to break. Henry looks up to see his father’s steady gaze on him, and that’s when he understands that too. “Henry? Look at me. Stay with me. Breathe. Come on. In and out. You can do this. You’ll be okay.”

“You… you told me to take care of my wounds.”

“Henry…”

“You knew from the start,” Henry sobs, looking away as the first signs of loss reach out of for him. “Make it stop. I want to wake up.”

“Henry, listen to me—”

“ _MAKE IT STOP._ ”

The room falls so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat, beating too fast against his chest, so stubborn after everything that’s happened to him.

“You can open your eyes now, Hen,” his father’s voice says, soft and careful and full of fondness so familiar it hurts. “It’s over.”

They’re not in the apartments anymore. Henry isn’t sure where they are. For a moment, he thinks it looks like the reception hall of an event that stays just out of reach of his memory, yet twists his stomach with an uncertain sense of apprehension.

The blood and the bandages are gone. His dad gets to his feet and offers a hand to help him up too.

“Am I dead? Is this what this is?” Henry dares to ask as his dad hauls him to an upright position. His chest still hurts, as does his side.

“No, son. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Henry cringes, the pain making it hard to think. “So this place…”

“For you it’s sort of a midway place.” His dad takes Henry’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of his palm. “If you want, you can come with me. Or,” he adds with a sad smile, “you can go back.”

“Back? Back to…”

He nods towards where his injuries used to be. “Back. To all of that.”

Henry shakes his head. He wants to move away but moving out of his father’s touch feels like blasphemy. “I don’t—Explain something to me. Was this place supposed to be perfect? With-with you here? And the happy family. And Alex. And Philip and I magically getting along?”

His dad hums. “Most of it. Honestly, Henry, it was hard to find what to change. I don’t feel sorry for you,” he laughs. “You turned out pretty great. I didn’t even have to change that much.”

“Then-then what about Pez?” No version of his life could be better without Pez.

“I had to find something here for you to hate. You were getting too comfortable. I needed you to figure it out.”

“And now that I have?”

Dad places his hands on his shoulders, like he knows he’ll need to hold him upright for the next part. “Now, you need to make a decision.”

Henry closes the distance between them, buries his face into the crook of his father’s shoulder. He’s taller than him. The scent of his cologne wafts up his nose, and he marvels again at the fact that he remembers what he smells like now. When he pulls back again, his eyes are stinging, but his father was never the person from whom needed to hide his tears.

“Are you… are you real? Somehow, is it really you? Or are you a figment of my imagination my mind conjured to help me… pass-pass away without being afraid?”

He flinches at the last word, then sadness takes over his features, in the soft downturn of his smile, the look in his eyes. “Would you believe either answer I could give you?”

Henry sniffles, grasping at the fabric of his father’s shirt. “No. Tell me anyway.”

“Henry—”

“If I’m going to give up _everything_ to stay with you, you have to—you _have_ to be real,” He yells, the words drowned in a sob.

“If I _was_ real, would you come with me?”

The weight of every day he’s spent grieving and crying and curled around himself compels him to say yes. The memory of all the times someone held him through it force the words back down. He thinks of Bea and him spending their dad’s birthday together, fighting through the day’s grief by each other’s side.

He thinks of Alex, with his arms wrapped around him, tender kisses and soft touches, or less careful touches with the same amount of love. Homemade breakfasts and cheap pizzas, early mornings and late nights. In London, and New York and DC and Texas. Their life an unpredictable mess of places and people and two lives that no one thought could be intertwined.

He thinks of how he would die for Pez, and how that should mean he should live for him as well.

He misses his dad. He misses him every day. But he won’t be sacrificing himself in his place. His family won’t suddenly get him back if Henry goes. Instead, they’ll only lose him too.

“No.”

His dad grins at him, despite the tears glimmering in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, son.” He strokes his cheeks once, taking a last good look at him. “Now brace yourself, because this is going to hurt. And it’ll hurt for a while.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too. So much. If you take anything from this, just remember that, okay?”

Henry wakes up choking.

He wakes up to blinding fluorescent lights above him and burning pains all over him. There are soft fingers in his hair, and voices all around him but he can’t focus on it because he _can_ _’t breathe_.

“Henry? Henry! You’re okay. Calm down, darling. Calm down. It’s breathing _for_ you. Let it breathe for you. You’re okay.” Bea is hovering above him and she’s crying and she’s smiling at the same time. Henry wants to take her in his arms but it hurts too much. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. “Shush, it’s okay, darling. You’re fine. You’re going to be okay. Everyone is all right. I promise.”

Then Alex shows up and although everything is hazy with pain and panic and a fear he can’t shake, he holds Alex’s hand in his own, and the world finally, _finally_ tilts back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm going to cringe so hard seeing all the typos tomorrow. I'm so sorry).
> 
> Fun fact: the entire premise of this chapter was born out of the fact that I bought the Swedish cover of this book, and I loved that Alex called Henry 'älskling' for sweetheart. XD
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment before you go! See you soon~ (Also if any of you haven't seen, I do have a new multichap out! Morally grey hero/villain au, anybody?) Find me @ saltfics on tumblr!


	12. 8. "Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the many things I probably got wrong on the medical aspect. I tried to research, I promise. If any of you have real medical expertise and you know how it's supposed to go down, and you wanna share with the class, please feel free to let me know!

Henry doesn’t stay awake for long. Between the pain medication and the sheer exhaustion from all the strain on his body, he’s out like a light within a few minutes of the doctor showing up, drifting off to sleep again. But it feels less heavy somehow. The doctor talks about checking his breathing and starting to wean off the ventilator, and while Henry looks much the same as before, it feels like they’re making progress, like for the first time he can believe it’s going to get better. The room seems to collectively release a breath, the air settling lighter around them.

Bea nudges herself to Alex’s side, taking his hand, pushing her face into his shoulder, and she takes a moment just to cry, muffled sobs full of fatigue and relief, while Alex wraps his free arm around her, trying hard not to join in, or at least not as loudly. Pez has taken the seat next to Henry’s bedside, an arm on his shoulder, squeezing tightly as he blinks away the tears in his eyes.

“What happened?” Catherine walks in, a look of horror on her face as she sees her daughter crying. “What’s wrong, Beatrice?”

Bea sniffles, wiping at her eyes. “Nothing, Mom. Nothing’s wrong. He was…” A wet, wobbly smile trembles on her face and it lets her mother relax and breathe, even before she finishes the sentence. “He woke up. For-for a little while.”

Catherine gapes at her. “Henry did?” She turns to her son, walking to his side. Pez moves to the side, gives her some space. She takes a seat next to him and reaches out to run her hands through Henry’s hair, her knuckles gently down his cheeks. “Oh, my baby. My love. It’s going to be okay. We’re all waiting for you.”

Alex excuses himself from the room, giving them some privacy, and himself a fucking break.

Shaan is still outside the room but he trusts him to ignore him as Alex leans against the wall,closing his eyes for a moment. Fuck, he’s tired. He’s already so, so tired. He wants to talk to Henry. His chest clenches with the memory of his eyes, so alarmed and full of pain, but _alive,_ alive and awake and there. Soon, he lets himself believe. Soon he can talk to him. He’s going to be fine. It’s going to get better.

“Alex? Everything fine?” A hand settles on his shoulder. June is watching him with a concerned expression on her face. “Did something happen?”

Alex shakes his head. “It’s good. Better. Henry woke up for a bit there.”

“Alex, that’s wonderful.” She wraps her arms around him, and he holds her closer when she tries to pull back. “Hey. What is it?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” He lets her go, though she stays a step closer than she has to. “I think some of the stress went away and the exhaustion is hitting me all at once.”

“You didn’t sleep, did you?”

Alex scoffs. “What do you think?”

“You could get some sleep now. I know you won’t when Henry wakes up again.” She gives him a pointed look but there’s a ghost of a smile on her face. “He’ll hate to see you this exhausted, you know,” June adds, because if nothing else she knows which buttons to push. Her and everyone else.

“Why do y’all keep using Henry to guilt-trip me?”

“Because it works,” she shrugs. “But who else tried?”

“Ma—Oh, fuck me,” he groans as he realizes he has one more thing left on his to-do list before he can rest. Of all the dumb things he’s ever agreed to. “I need to—There’s something I promised I'd do. Call me if anything changes.”

 _“Where_ are you going?”

It takes him twenty minutes to find the damn roof, for every time he tries to ask someone for directions they look at him funny, either because he has no reason to be there, or because in his current state he might not look totally sane going around asking for a roof they probably aren't aware could be accessed anyway. Or both. Still, he manages to find a stairwell eventually and the loud creak of the metal door opening startles the person he’s looking for into approaching.

“Do you know how hard you are to find, man?” Alex complains the moment Philip is within view.

Kudos to Martha. She knows her husband, though why it’s Alex that has to suffer through this, he still doesn’t understand.

Philip looks about as disheveled as Alex feels, except Alex is used to seeing himself a little out of sorts. It looks worse on Philip somehow. A shadow of a stubble has shown on his face and deep dark circles under his eyes, accented by how alarmed he looks to see him. Yes, well, he doesn’t want to be there either.

"What are you doing here?" Philip asks, pulling at his clothes, trying to make himself presentable to no avail. "How did you even know where to come?"

"Your wife guilt-tripped me into it," he shrugs. "What is this place? Why have you been hiding here?"

Philip looks startled and he looks around like he'll find the answer written on the walls. "It's a bit ridiculous, I admit." Oh, fun. "When Arthur was born... Henry, well, he run off here. I am not certain what I thought I would find, but... it's better than the alternative."

It's not what he expected. But it's also not good enough. "The alternative being staying with your family when they need you?"

_"Excuse me?"_

He remembers that day; Henry was missing for hours. But as surprised as he is to find this as a reason for Philip's disappearance, he still fucking disappeared. "Hey, Martha told me I had to talk to you. She never specified I had to be nice."

Philip scoffs, and it pricks at Alex's already frayed nerves.

"Look, man, the Internet is being mean to you. Big fucking deal. Yes, it's cruel and unfair, but you brought this on yourself, _exactly_ because you cared more about what people thought of you instead of being there for your family."Alex throws his hands in the air, the frustration and exhaustion of the past days morphing into anger that just found the perfect way out. "You wanna prove that you'd never do this? Go be with your fucking family! Go help your mom! Or go home and be with your wife who was worried enough to recruit me into this, for fuck's sake! What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing here?"

"I—"

"No, shut up, I'm not done!"

"You _asked."_

Fucker. "Fine, _go ahead,_ " he complies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I..." His expression pinches, his jaw setting in a way that's both like Henry's and rougher at the same time, sterner. "I cannot face them, Alexander. I cannot go and tell my mother that it is going to be fine when I know that I had three different opportunities to put an end to it." He runs a hand down his face, clearing his throat when what Alex can only assume is the most emotion felt in the past month lodges itself in there. "I already let down my siblings. Both of them. The media thinking the worst of me, while not great for public image, is not my biggest issue right now. They're confirming what I already know."

Alex nods. "And by staying here, you continue to let them down _right now_."

Philip steps back as if struck, and Alex decides he's done with his good deed of the day. "You wanna stay out here, be my guest. But you should be downstairs with everyone." He walks over to the door but before he leaves, he gives him one last look behind his shoulder. "Henry woke up, by the way."

Zahra grabs custody of him after that and drags him back to the palace to get some rest. It's a testament to both his exhaustion and relief that he actually manages it this time. For an almost normal amount of time too. That doesn't stop him from complaining about it the entire car ride back to the hospital, though.

He hears the commotion long before he gets to Henry's room, before he even see the extra security guards outside. Alex's heart jumps to his throat and he pushes past them, shouting to be let through.

The room is a mess of people; a pair of nurses checking vitals, Bea talking to a flustered-looking doctor. His dad is by Henry's side, talking too low for Alex to hear but the soothing tone is unmistakeable in his expression, in the way he rubs Henry's shoulder in comfort. Henry's face is pale and scrunched up in pain, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his forehead. Alex goes to him.

" _Calma, mijo. Calma. Estas bien_ ," Oscar says softly, squeezing Henry's shoulder. "It's over. It's going to be okay." He looks up at Alex and moves to the side, giving him space.

"Dad, what happened?" Alex takes Henry's hand, and he opens his eyes, searching for Alex's own. "Hey, baby," Alex whispers.

Henry's hand is trembling, his eyes wide with alarm.

Oscar sighs before his expression takes a harder edge to it, anger twisting in his features. "I came here a few minutes ago. June had to leave with Pez, and she asked if I could sit here since Henry would be alone. I walked in and..." His gaze drifts over to Henry and it softens slightly, as he gives him another short squeeze. "Someone had turned the oxygen off."

Alex freezes, his heart skipping in his chest. "What?"

"I don't know what to tell you. I saw him struggling so I called for help. Pretty sure Shrivastava is yelling at his replacement guard through the phone right now."

His dad must see the way he's looking at Henry, for he gives another sigh and stands up, claiming he'll check on what's happening. Alex barely finds the strength to nod.

Henry's hand clings tighter to his own.

Alex focuses on him, trying to ignore the ventilator once again, though it's harder now, knowing how even that was used against him. He's never going to be safe. He'll never—

Henry tugs at him.

Alex pushes himself to his feet, leaning over Henry to stay more comfortably in his field of vision. "Okay, okay, I'm noticing you," he teases with a sad smile. "That must have been scary. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—" He yelps when the bastard pinches him.Alex loves him so damn much.

"No apologies? All right."He plants a quick kiss to his forehead, smiling honestly this time when he feels Henry hold him tighter in response. "I know this sucks, sweetheart, but it'll all be better soon, yeah? You'll see. Pinch once if you agree. Ah, wait, shit, you can't laugh—please tell me it doesn't hurt to laugh. I'll feel like such an ass."

Henry pinches him again.

Alex pulls back and catches his eye. "Only you can look this exasperated like this." Another one. "Oh, don't be upset, I know what you were going to say, anyway. Something like 'only I can make you this exasperated', right? If I'm right, I earn a kiss. I'm going to go ahead and assume I'm right."

Alex kisses him again. He gasps when he feels a hand tangle in his curls, clumsy but so tender. He takes Henry's hand in his own, brings it to his lips too, whispering _i-love-you_ s in the life line of his palm. He sneaks a _sorry_ in there too, on the pulse point of his wrist.

"Mr. Claremont-Diaz, could you give us a moment?" the nurse asks and he wonders how she knows his name. Alex's stomach twists at the idea of leaving but he nods and gives Henry one last kiss before he steps outside the room.

He doesn't stop. He keeps walking until he finds the closest bathroom and locks himself in a stall, sinking to the floor immediately. Alex gathers his knees close to his chest and hides his head between them, muffling heavy gulps of air on the fabric of his jeans. And as his chest constricts with anxiety, he wonders if this is what Henry felt. Except it was real and it was killing him because someone wanted to make sure he couldn't breathe—

"Alex? Open the door."

"This is the men's room, go away!" He yells at Bea, though he knows that if she's anything like June he's not going to get away with it.

"Please?"

Alex stretches to twist the lock then plops back down, letting Bea make her way inside herself. She takes a seat next to him, legs crossed, her dress spreading around her. At least the hospital is absurdly expensive enough for it to be clean. She doesn't say anything, just places a hand on the side of his cheek, and guides his head to rest on her shoulder. A traitorous question burns on his throat and he swallows it back down before he can lose his grip on it.

"Better?" she asks, when Alex's breathing quiets down.

"You don't have to comfort me. Not you."

"If I can't help myself, I might as well help you, you know?"

_Do you feel the need to be the older sibling for someone? And I'm the closest you can get?_

Alex shakes his head. "I just thought things were going to get better now and he almost—He was supposed to be _safe now_." He cringes when his voice cracks, deflating against the wall.

Bea sighs and the gesture steals years from her face as the bone-deep exhaustion they're all feeling seeps into her expression too. "I know. No wonder Shaan is so paranoid. Now he's never going to leave the room again. Ever. And to be honest, I do not want him to. We don't know who to trust. Did the replacement guard let the nurse in because he didn't realize or was he friends with that bloody bastard and decided to just let it happen?" She lets her head fall in her hands, clenching her fingers around her hair. "I don't know what to do anymore. I can't... I can't protect them, you know?" She shifts slightly, just enough to take a look at him, as if Alex, who has let Henry down thrice now, could ever have an answer for her. "I can't stop Henry from getting hurt apparently, even right under our noises. And Mum— she's running on pure anxiety and premature grief, and it takes all my energy to make sure she doesn't slip away from him, that she won't—she won't find it easier to withdraw from Henry instead of potentially letting him hurt her."

" _Bea_ —"

"And I don't know _where_ the fuck Philip is, and I don't have the time or the energy to go find him, even if I know I probably should because I know he blames himself! Which is bullshit and he should be here helping me because I _can't_..." A sob breaks her sentence but it doesn't manage to drown her words. "I can't do it alone again."

"Bea!" he says, louder, grabbing her shoulder. "This is exactly the same bullshit your brother's saying—though it's much more sympathetic on you, I'll give you that." Bea chuckles, the sound wet but her smile genuine. "You're not alone. And Henry's not dead. It sucks now. It sucks so, so much. But it'll get better, right? It has to."

Bea wraps her arms around his waist and huddles closer to him.

"Have you noticed that you always get it together to help others? Pez told me you talked too."

"Have you noticed you do the exact same thing?"

"Oh, yes."

The door to the bathroom opens and closes and they both quiet down, waiting for whoever walked inside to leave.

"Mr. Claremont-Diaz? Are you in here?"

Bea pushes the door open with one hand. They have to hand it to Shaan, he doesn't give a single hint of surprise when he sees both of them on the floor.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Alex asks. "Aren't you supposed to be taking a break?"

"Nonsense. Clearly I'm needed."

"Well, I won't argue with that but—"

"If you could both come with me now, I think you'd like to be present for this."

When they ask him what this is, he just smiles and leads them back to the room.

Catherine is at Henry's side, holding his hand in both her own and talking to him softly. Henry is awake, and he meets his eyes when they walk inside. It makes Alex feel slightly better that his favorite spot in the room has already been taken. His dad is also there, leaning against the wall, and Alex slots himself next to him while Bea sits next to her mom. A doctor and a nurse are checking over something on Henry's other side, speaking in hushed tones.

"What's going on?" Alex whispers.

Before his dad can reply, the doctor turns them to a tense smile on her face. "All right. This room is a little over capacity at this point. Well, a lot. Would any of you like to wait outside, maybe?" she tries then fights back a sigh when nobody speaks up. The perks of being a part of the royal family is that she can't seem to find a way to order them around either. "Very well, but I want some of you to get out of here the minute we're done."

"What is happening, exactly?" Bea asks.

"Right. We think it's time for his Highness here to breathe on his own."

Alex gapes, his gaze shifting from the doctor to Henry and back to the doctor, fighting back the grin that threatens take over. He can't hope that much yet. "Wait—really? But before..."

"We're aware of the situation. However, considering how well he's been doing in his breathing trials I think that had more to do with him panicking than any actual issues with his breathing." She turns to Henry for a moment, her easy attitude slipping. "Did the... person- did they tell you who they were?"

Henry doesn't reply but he makes no effort to show his disagreement either. The doctor's face hardens for a second before she reclaims her smile. "So how about we switch you to something more comfortable? You've been doing so well, I think you could stand the switch to the cannula."

"Oh, Henry, your favorite," Bea says for some inexplicable reason, and though he can't laugh or quip back, his eyes narrow her way.

The doctor ignores them. "All right, your Highness. Are you ready? I'll guide you through it."

The nurse rearranges their things around them and Alex tries not to focus on the emergency equipment they have on hand. Will they immediately reintubate him if something goes wrong?

The doctor props Henry higher, checks to make sure he's okay and comfortable. She changes something on the ventilator, turns on what sounds like a suctioning tube and leaves it to the side then gets the nasal cannula prepared as well. A blue paper towel-looking thing is placed on Henry's chest.

And that's about the point where Alex stops understanding what's going on.The doctor puts a syringe in one point of the tube and uses a... stethoscope... on his throat, listening intently for something. Alex tries to catch anyone's eyes to share his confusion or for someone to tell him that this is all going the way it's supposed to. But Catherine can't bear to look up at what's happening, so she stares at her hands on her lap, while Bea keeps shifting her attention between Henry and comforting her mom. Henry himself is looking at the doctor, not that he would ever dare ask for his help or comfort in this situation. His dad is watching with a heavy frown on his face but at least he squeezes Alex's shoulder when he notices him staring.

"Everything seems fine," the doctor announces, after sticking the needle in a different part of the tube. Okay. He doesn't want to know. "We're ready to go." He appreciates how soothing the woman's voice is, the easy way she gives instructions. Henry seems relaxed for the most part, granting her his full attention and his trust. "I'll ask you to take three deep breaths, one at a time. The third one I'll need you to hold—don't worry, I'll remind you when it's time. Ready?"

Henry gives an imperceptible nod of his head but his eyes flicker to Alex for a second. _You've got this_ , Alex mouths and smiles at him, even though his hands are shaking.

"All right, Henry—can I call you Henry? Perfect. All right." The nurse hands her a pair of scissors and, with one hand holding the tube, she uses the other to snip the tape holding it to his face. "Let me remove that for you. There, excellent. Okay, we're ready. Take a deep breath—"

Alex feels his own come shorter, and his fingers clench around his dad's arm.

"Take another deep breath—"

Henry looks stressed, his eyes wide and staring at the doctor with a kind of pleading Alex never wants to see again.

"Last one and _hold it_ ," the doctor instructs and as his chest expands with a breath, she finally, _finally_ pulls out the tube.

Alex gasps as Henry goes into a coughing fit.

"Almost ready, there we go..." The doctor reassures him as she suctions his mouth and places the cannula on his face. "We're done."

Henry melts against the pillows, taking a few deep breaths, his eyes closed.

"Can you say something for me, Henry?" The doctor asks, watching him carefully. "Anything at all."

Henry opens his eyes and searches the room, heat rising to his cheeks once he realizes how many people are looking at him. And like the English major that he is, all he says is:

"Uh, hello."

It's the single most beautiful thing Alex has ever heard.

The room erupts in laughter, relief and joy vibrating in the air. Alex crosses the room in two steps and cradles Henry's face in his hands, tasting his own tears in his grin. "I fucking love you," he whispers.

And Henry smiles a weary smile, softened in its fondness, and with his hoarse, exhausted, wonderful voice, he says, "I know."

Someone chuckles in the background. Maybe more than one person. Alex pays them no mind as he takes full advantage of Henry's newfound freedom to kiss him on his lips. Barely a brush, careful not to hurt him, not to startle him. But it still makes his legs tremble with relief.

"I love you too," Henry whispers when Alex pulls away.

He has to take a step back for Henry's family to take his place, especially when the doctor warns them that she wants most of everyone out of there within the next ten minutes before she leaves. It tears his heart out to take a step back but he knows they need to be near him as much as he does. Catherine takes one side and Bea takes the other, and Alex tries not to look at Catherine's face, for it's still twisted with sorrow even through her smile. Her tears are too much and he sees them reflected in the apologetic smile that Henry holds for her.

His dad pats his back, rubbing a little warmth into him, too. "The doctor's right, we're too many people here. I'll go tell your sister the news." He moves closer to Henry for a moment, lays a hand on his leg to get his attention. "Good to hear your voice, kid."

"Thank you... for helping me. Before."

"Please don't say any time," Alex hurries to note.

They begin to file out, one by one, while Alex is all but vibrating with impatience. Finally the door closes behind Bea and they're left alone in the room. Henry looks exhausted and Alex knows he's not going to have long.

Henry falls back onto the pillows, letting out a long sigh, and Alex revels in that sound.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, his heart clenching when Henry smiles at him.

"Hey, love." Henry slips his hand between Alex's. "What is it?" He frowns when Alex doesn't reply but suddenly Alex is the one who can't speak. Emotion clogs up his throat, all the stress of the past few days trying to find a way out. "Hey."

Alex covers his mouth with his hand, muffling back a sob. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I—"

"Hey, it's okay. It's _okay_." Henry coughs slightly and Alex feels like such an ass but he can't stop. "Don't apologize. Holding everything in doesn't help, you kn _ow_." His voice cracks at the end, too tired to speak for so long.

Alex tries for a smile, though it comes out shaky. "You don't have to talk, baby," he laughs. "Don't worry. I'm fine. It's just—"

"I know," Henry whispers, tugging him further down. "Come here."

"No, wait, I'll hurt you."

"You'd never."

"The fact that I wouldn't want to doesn't mean that I won't. Henry—Do you even have a good side at this point?"

"Not really," Henry huffs.

"Okay, yeah, I'm getting up."

Alex slips off the bed, taking the chair instead and ignoring Henry's half-hearted grumbling. He wipes away the moisture from his eyes—there will be a time for that later, when Henry is not awake and tired and looking at him with so much adoration. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" He reaches out to brush his hair away from his eyes, smiling when Henry hums in appreciation, blinking slowly. "In as few words as possible."

"Better."

"Okay, those are too few words."

Henry chuckles, then clears his throat again. He mumbles something Alex can't make out, his eyes slipping closed.

"Fine, I'll let you get away with it this time." Alex leans forward, planting a lingering kiss on his cheek. "Get some rest. I'll beright here when you wake up."

Even as he drifts off to sleep, Henry still gifts him a reply.

"I know, love. I always knew."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "salt, do you think maybe you overdescribed the extubation?" yes, my ignoring of the problem was conscious.
> 
> I know this took a while (whoop) but I hope you enjoyed it? Please let me know what you thought!! Come yell at me on tumblr @ saltfics as well! See ya soon-ish, maybe, probably, not.


	13. 9. "are you upset with me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day:  
> "are you upset with me?"  
> "why are you bleeding?"  
> "i fucked up"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO story updates in two days? Aren't I sweet?

There’s something itching in the back of his mind. A stray thought vying for one last chance at his attention, already in vain, for he can’t remember what it is, no matter how hard he focuses on it. Still, it pricks at the back of his head, punishing him for his inconsideration. It’s loud, and it's quiet in his mind, an urgency circling around his head, despite the lack of strong thoughts at the forefront of his consciousness. Like he knows something bad is going to happen. Or has happened. Or is happening right now. Yet he doesn’t know what that is, nor how to stop it.

He’s sitting at the bottom of the staircase to the music room, the sun slipping through the door left ajar, washing the hall in golden hues, brilliant and familiar all the same. Through the slit of the outside he can see, he glimpses the gardens way ahead, can barely grasp his mothers’ voice, the sound making no sense in his ears, too far away to hold their shape as words. She sounds pleased though, almost happy, and it confuses him. She’s been so sad lately. He’s sure of it. And it had to do with him. He’s been doing that to her a lot lately.

There’s a big red mark on the step he’s sitting on, a patch of dried blood nobody bothered, or managed, to scrub off. It stayed there, and it seems fair somehow. He grew up in this house, broke things on these stairs and broke down on them. It seems fair for it to match his scars. If he bleeds on those steps, then they’ll bleed for him, for though it barely felt like a home, it homed him anyway, and regardless of whether he likes it or not, he belongs to the line of people who left their marks in these halls. So it’s marks he’ll leave at the end, little proofs of his existence, much more personal than what will be passed down in history.

Footsteps come from above him, and his heart speeds up with a newfound paranoia at the sound. He turns to see who's coming downstairs and... Oh.

"You're older," Henry says, his heart clenching.

"No, _you're_ older," Arty giggles, stumbling down the last few steps to land right in his arms. His blond curls tickle at his chin as he huddles close to him.

"I am." Henry gives him a quick hug before pulling away to look at his face. "But you're not supposed to be. Why are you always older? What does it mean?"

Arty shrugs with a non-committal sound like he couldn't care less as long as he's there.

Henry smiles at the boy, ruffling his hair. Just because he's not real doesn't mean that he can't take a moment to enjoy the moment. It's not as though he has a lot of options at the moment. "Is anyone else here? Your Grandpa?" Arty shakes his head. "Your Gran? I thought I heard her earlier."

It's because he knows this isn't real that he understands the changes in his environment are a hint; his mind is warning him, protecting him, or perhaps just prolonging his suffering. The air goes stale in that moment, the gentle sounds from outside in the background cutting off so fast like they're severed. Arty's hands clench around his shirt, his smile falling.

"He's here," he whispers, risking a fleeting glance to the top of his staircase.

Henry holds him closer. "Who is?"

His eyes well up with tears, his lower lip trembling. "You shouldn't have left," he whines, holding him even tighter. "You shouldn't have left, Uncle Henry."

"Who's here, love?" Henry insists, rubbing a hand down his back in an attempt to calm him down.

Arty shakes his head, dislodging himself from his arms. He takes a few steps back, almost slipping down the last couple of steps. "He's here. Why did you leave? We were safe."

The word we snatches at his heart, stealing a beat. "Arty—"

"He'll come for you. And Uncle Alex. And-and me." He backs away further, hitting the wall, his eyes shifting between Henry and the top floor. A set of footsteps, slower, heavier than the ones before resound around them, echoing like they're coming from somewhere much deeper, much darker than where they are.

Henry hurries to his feet. He reaches him and takes the boy in his arms, tightening his hold when Arty wraps his arms around his neck, burying his face in his shoulder. Henry looks towards the staircase, wondering if he should run.

"You should have stayed..." Arty cries, his voice shaking with fear. "He would have stopped if you stayed."

"You don't mean that," Henry mumbles, pressing a kiss to his curls. "You're just a dream."

The trembling leaves his words, an unnatural assuredness taking its place. There's no emotion in Arty's voice when he says, "You'll mean it. When he comes back you'll mean it."

He pulls away, staring at Henry with blue eyes that lack their hungry curiosity. He's pale, too pale, and it makes Henry's stomach turn with nausea. "You could have saved us all."

"I—"

" _He's here."_

Henry doesn't jump, doesn't scream. He barely jolts in his bed as his eyes snap open, his breath stuttering in his chest with a curt yet heavy gasp. It’s late at night, the curtains drawn over the windows of his new room, yet there’s a faint light still on above his bed, burning at his tired eyes. It’s bigger than the ICU, comfier but at this time of night it’s too empty to bear. As Henry’s heartrate picks up, when the remnants of his dream refuse to cease their hold, shadows start crawling down the walls, his fear and insecurities finding his defenses lacking.

“Hello?” he croaks out. His throat still hurts too much, stealing the sound of his voice until it’s nothing more than a whisper. He tries anyway. “Hello? Shaan? _Shaan_?” It’s barely any louder than before despite his strain but he hits the nearest wall, hoping the thump will reach what his voice cannot.

The door opens and Shaan rushes in, scanning the room for any danger before turning to him. “Sir? Are you all right?”

Henry breathes out in relief. He doesn’t notice he’s about to cry until twin trails of tears trickle warm down his cheeks. 

Shaan startles at the sight and comes closer, lingering just out of reach on the side of the bed. “What’s the matter? Do you need assistance? Should I call—?”

“No, I’m—I just…” He gasps, his lungs too tight in his chest, and he flinches. The last thing he needs in his state is a panic attack. At least he hopes it’s a panic attack. He’s not getting on that ventilator again. “Stay? Stay. Please.”

Shaan tenses, his eyes fleeting to the door for a second like all he wants to do is run. 

Henry’s chest constricts further at the sight, and he reaches out a hand, wondering, _hoping_ he’ll take it. “Please,” he says again, his breathing picking up pace. “ _Shaan_.”

Shaan takes his hand in his own, placing the other on his shoulder. The uncertainty has fled from his expression, replaced by a steady, reassuring look that grounds him. “All right, your Highness. You’re all right. Just breathe. Come on, Sir, just focus on me.”

It takes them a moment but he guides Henry down again, never once letting go of him.

Henry falls back against his pillows, already exhausted yet too wired to fall back asleep.

“Are you feeling better?”

Henry sighs and at least that breath comes out smoothly for the most part. “Yes," he croaks out, wincing at the pain in his throat. "It’s... silly. Had a-a nightmare I couldn’t shake. Thank you." He grimaces when he tries for a smile.

Shaan’s expression doesn’t change, carefully guarded under layers of professionalism, more than he’s used to. “If that will be all, Sir, I will retake my post outside. Mr. Claremont-Diaz stepped out for a moment to head to the cafeteria but he should be back any second now to be with you.”

Something unpleasant pricks at him, a sneaking suspicion that grows the longer he stares at Shaan’s cut-off expression. “Can’t you stay in here?”

“I think it would be more appropriate for me to remain outside, Sir.”

Henry grows cold, his body tensing with apprehension. “... What’s going on?”

"Sir?"

"Are you upset with me?"

"I'm merely doing my job, Sir."

Henry stares at him, blinking rapidly, trying not to focus on how much that hurts, cutting a layer deeper than the physical pain, a tiny crack that will chip away piece by piece if he lets it grow. And he knows he has to say something now, or he might not be able to stop it. "Shaan. You _must_ —" His voice cracks, pain spiking when he tries to clear his throat only for a whisper to come out. He insists anyway. "You must know I don't blame you."

"Your Highness, I implore you not to do this," Shaan sighs, straightening his posture even further yet somehow the rigidness makes him look more tired than before.

"It wasn't... your _fault_. I wouldn't— here if it wasn't for you," The breathlessness in his voice makes him sound frailer than he is and it doesn't help his cause.

"You're right. Perhaps, if someone else was in charge there would be no need for us to be here." Henry goes to protest but Shaan holds up a hand, silencing him. "Please, let me apologize. I let my personal feelings for Owens sidetrack me and it put you in danger. And for that I am truly, deeply sorry, Henry."

He flinches at the sound of his name, remembering the last time he heard it from Shaan, knowing how serious he's being if he's trading respect for sentiment. "I..." Henry swallows. Hard. "There's no— thing to forgive... but if you must have this, I promise I forgive you. _Shaan_. Υou found me. You got to me... you saved me."

Shaan is already shaking his head.

Henry mirrors him, for an entirely different reason. Fear and frustration expand in his chest, and he wants this conversation to stop, for he can't handle where it's going, he cannot do this right now. His fingers clench around the thin blanket on the bed.

"Your Highness, I promise you I will find that man and stop him. I promise," Shaan declares, his gaze burning with determination and remorse alike. Henry can feel the next part coming before he hears it, yet it still hits him like a punch to his chest. "And when that happens, I would like to formally resign from my position."

"No. _No_."

"Sir—"

He wants to protest. He wants to yell. He wants to tell him that they're not done and he's not resigning. But as he calls Shaan's name, his voice gives out like the most frustrating cold, and all he can say is _please,_ so quiet that he can't even hear himself.

Shaan frowns, sympathy slipping into his eyes for a second and he gives him a sad smile before he goes. "Get some rest, Sir."

The door closes behind him and Henry slaps a hand in front of his mouth, trying to muffle a sob so it won't be heard through the door. It'll be hard for a while but it'll get better. That was the deal he agreed to. That was the reason he fought so hard to stay if he accepts the fact that his experience was something more than just an odd coma dream born of trauma and painkillers. It'll get better.

Shaan leaving is not better. And of all the things Owens would be able to take from him, he didn't expect this one.

As promised, Alex slips inside the room soon enough, startling when he sees Henry still awake. There's a styrofoam cup of steaming hot coffee in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in a plastic bag in the other, and Henry feels a pang of guilt at the sight. How long has Alex been awake, moving from plastic chair to plastic chair, barely getting any sleep or food?

"Baby," Alex whispers, mindful of the time, as he drags a chair over to the side of the bed. "What are you doing up? Did you..." He must notice the wetness on his cheeks then because his eyes widen, panicking. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

Henry shakes his head, though the grimace he wears can't possibly convince him. He reaches out for Alex's hand, and Alex places his things on the floor immediately to take it in both of his own.

Alex leans forward, his lips pressing kisses into the inside of his palm, a point of softness in the midst of all the pain around his body. There's a perpetual sadness in his eyes. It's been there since he woke up; if Henry thought the stress Alex had been in after the stairs incident was bad to look at, it was nothing compared to what he finds now. The grief behind every gaze, the desperation in his touches, and the reverence in his kisses, like he's grateful and tortured all the same to get to do this. It breaks Henry's entire heart and he doesn't know how to fix this. He can't promise him he'll be all right. Even if he does, Alex will never believe him again.

"Why are you crying, sweetheart?"

Henry tugs at his hand instead, pulling him closer. "Climb up with me," he croaks out, making Alex cringe at the sound. His quota for speech is over and done for today, if not for tomorrow too. 

"Hen... we've been through this before, I'll hurt you." 

The remorse is evident in Alex's voice and it hurts to hear but it can't soothe the emptying feeling that claws its way through him from the inside out. Alex deflates, his expression matching his tone at whatever face Henry is wearing and even though he's frowning the entire time, he slips from his chair and tries to find a proper way to place himself on Henry's bed without hurting him.

With the utmost care, Henry pushes himself to the edge of the bed, clenching the edge of the mattress in an attempt to hide how much it hurts to move. Alex climbs up on the left side of the bed but stays in a mostly sitting position, high up on the mattress where he can guide Henry to nest in his arms, without ever touching him below the ribcage. With Alex's legs hanging off the side of the bed, he somehow manages to avoid even brushing against the bullet wound. It looks uncomfortable with his spine twisted like this, and Henry's both grateful and burdened with another layer of guilt to settle neatly on top of the rest.

Still, the steady warmth of him at his back, the sound of his heartbeat where his head rests against Alex's chest lifts some of the heaviness from his shoulders. Alex is carding his fingers through his hair, massaging gently. He doesn't ask what's wrong again, he doesn't push. He doesn't even talk, knowing Henry can't reply. 

Alex is soft touches and kisses pressed to his hair, and for just a moment, he can stay there, replacing the sterile smell of the hospital with the faint leftover scent from Alex's sweater, and the cold, unfamiliar pillows with the comforting discomfort of Alex's ribcage under him. For a moment, he can believe they're home and all right, and lie to himself that everything will, at some point, turn out okay.

Alex wakes up to June snapping a photo of him, which isn't a novel occurrence by any means, but the frequency of it doesn't make it any less rude. He groans as his senses return to him and the aches make themselves known. His back is screaming at him after spending the entire night twisted out of shape, and his right arm is pierced by pins and needles so strong he has to fight not to clutch at it and shake Henry awake. He's still sleeping soundly against his chest and the absence of pain on his face is so precious, Alex would never dare take it away from him.

"Bug, I don't think this is exactly an occasion I want to remember," he grumbles, rubbing at his eyes with his free, currently-not-killing-him hand.

June and his dad are in the room, looking more well-rested than they have since they've come to England. Henry's improving condition has let everyone relax a bit more, it seems. Despite the uncomfortable position, Alex himself slept better last night than he has in days.

"I'm sorry," June shrugs, not a sound of real apology in her voice. "You guys looked sweet. Plus there's something to be said about the resilience portrayed here, don't you think?"

Alex can't help a smile, despite himself.

"How are you doing?" his dad asks. "How's he feeling?"

"You first," June adds, because she knows him.

Alex tries to sit up higher, as gentle as possible in his movements. "I'm tired," he admits, even though he just woke up. He's not sure this exhaustion is ever going to leave him until Henry is out of this place and back home with him. Or the fear. "And hungry."

June picks up a paper bag from her feet and passes it over. It's still warm.

"Wow."

"You're welcome," she smiles as she passes him a cup of coffee too. "And Henry?"

He looks down at his sleeping boyfriend, pushing some stray locks of hair away from his face. Henry is still a little pale, accenting the shadows under his eyes. There's a mark on the side of his face where he pressed too hard against the tube in his sleep. And Alex wants to say he's doing okay, that he's making leaps in his recovery but something shook him last night and as much as he adored sleeping by his side again, even like this, Alex knows he wouldn't have done it if his behavior hadn't scared him so.

Alex looks up at his dad and he can't lie, if only because he hopes maybe he'll have the answer. "I don't know," he says, quiet and ashamed like a confession, a sin not to believe in Henry after all he's been through. "Physically, he's obviously getting better," he whispers, trying not to wake him, smiling when he shifts a little in his sleep. "But I don't know how he's dealing with all of the rest. And if I'm having trouble with it, I can't imagine how he feels."

"He hasn't been awake for long, Alex," his dad points out, reaching out to pat his leg. "You both need your time."

"And a good therapist," June adds, frowning.

"That too."

Alex sighs, relaxing against the pillows. "We're all going to need good therapists." Last time he checked, Henry's family wasn't dealing either.

Henry's breath catches in his throat and he blinks his eyes open, tensing for a second as he fails to recognize where he is. Alex rubs a hand up and down his arm until he eases into his embrace again.

"Morning, baby. Hey. You okay?"

Henry sits up higher, wincing as he moves. "Hey." His voice still sounds like crap. His eyes widen as he notices the other two occupants in the room. "Oh, hello. What's... everyone doing here?"

"Checking on you. Feeding Alex," June smiles at him.

"Good," Henry says, earning an unamused look from Alex. 

"How are you feeling, _mijo_?" Oscar asks.

Alex's chest clenches as he waits for the response.

Henry's smile is frail but it's honest and the soft hesitation with which he regards Oscar always makes something flutter in his stomach. He knows how complicated Henry's feelings are about Alex's dad, even if he doesn't fully understand it. "... been better. Been worse, too."

"It'll only get better from here, you'll see."

Henry nods, as Alex closes his eyes, hoping with all his heart that that's true.

So, of course, things turn to shit immediately afterwards.

Sounds of commotion start to sneak in from outside, voices raised but not loud enough to be clear. Alex thinks he hears Catherine over there, then Bea, but the person who actually enters the room is Philip, looking seconds away from either panicking or yelling. Either way, not a good sign.

"What the hell happened to you?" Alex asks, feeling Henry straightening against him.

Philip pales at the sight of them all gathered there. "I... didn't expect to see you all in here. Henry—" He turns to his brother and his expression crumbles, though Alex cannot for the life of him figure out if it's because of Henry's condition, or their presence, or whatever lit a fire under his ass.

"What's going on?" Henry croaks, making him flinch.

"And, um, why are you bleeding?" June asks, her eyes fleeting from his face to his left hand that Alex can now see is clutching a reddened bump of white bandage.

Bea rushes in before he can respond, eyes wide with the same alarm. Philip looks at her with unconcealed expectation but she only shakes her head.

"Okay, kid, take a deep breath. Tell us what's going on."

Oscar calling Philip 'kid' turns out to be incredulous enough to snap him out of it, and after staring at him in shock for a few seconds, Philip actually focuses enough to reply. "I fucked up."

Alex narrows his eyes. "Shocking. How?"

Bea takes it from him. "Gran called earlier." Oh, that's a terrible start. "Calling for _updates on her grandson's condition_ ," she explains, complete with a bad mimicry and a roll of her eyes. "Pip... may have told her you were awake."

Henry clutches his hand, realization settling in immediately.

"I thought she was asking because she had to!" Philip exclaims, running his hand through his hair this time. "I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't!" Bea snaps. "And yes, she's doing it because she has to but she's not going to stop at the phone call. You should have known that!"

Henry's grip tightens, almost painful.

"What's happening, Bea?" Alex insists. He needs to make sure. And though he suspects it, knows from Henry's reaction already what's about to go down, the words still strike with the force of lightning, and none of them are prepared to face it.

"Gran's coming here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Okay, so not that sweet.
> 
> Lmao, don't forget to leave a comment before you leave!! (Also if you haven't seen it already, I have another prompt collection for the winterfest prompts! Check it out!)
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ saltfics!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ saltfics to chat and/or request stuff! Please let me know what you thought of this baby one shot, and hey, maybe check out my other works! c:


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